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TUDIES : 


THE 


“OLD  MASTERS”  OF  ITALY; 


I M 


BY 

JAMES  JACKSON  JARVES, 

AUTHOR  OF  “ ART-HINTS,”  “ PARISIAN  SIGHTS,”  ETC.,  ETC. 


COPPERPLATE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


“ Oh,  happy  those  few  who  sit  at  that  table  where  the  bread  of  angels  is  eaten;  and  miserable 
those  that  partake  of  food  in  common  with  beasts.  ” 

Dante,  COnvito.  Trat.  I.  cap.  1. 


NEW  YORK: 

DERBY  AND  JACKSON,  498  BROADWAY. 

LONDON:  SAMPSON  LOW,  SON  AND  COMPANY,  47  LUDGATE  HILL. 

1861. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 
James  Jackson  Jarves, 

in  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


THE  J.  PAUL  GETTY  MUSEUM 

LIBRARY 


RIVERSIDE,  < ' A M 15  RIDGE  : 
STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  II.  O.  T 


TOUGHTON. 


do 

CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON 

STIjese  &rL=,StuTJtcs  are  JBetrfcatetr,  tottf)  cortrfal 
Siimpat])!)  anti  3&cjjarti. 


JAMES  JACKSON  JARVES. 


PREFACE. 


The  proper  aim  of  a work  of  this  character  is  so 
interwoven  with  the  entire  text  that  the  author,  in 
a preface,  has  little  else  to  say  than  to  request 
those  who  feel  a real  interest  in  art  to  patiently 
keep  him  company  to  the  end.  Those  who  do  not 
should  stop  here.  All  or  nothing  is  better  in  this 
instance.  For,  with  less  than  a thorough  perusal 
— cavil  who  may  afterwards  — both  the  topic  and 
author  may  be  misinterpreted.  Yet,  in  the  Epic 
struggle  of  Life  going  on  in  America,  resolving 
rough  and  serious  problems  of  all  sorts,  in  which 
struggle  our  population  seem  to  be  ever  striving  to 
catch  up  with  something  that  as  constantly  eludes 
their  grasp,  how  can  one  hope  to  persuade  the  people 
to  borrow  even  a few  moments  from  their  great 
match  with  Time,  to  give  heed  to  the  lessons  and 
enjoyments  of  art?  The  author,  while  in  America, 
finds  himself,  voluntarily  or  not,  borne  rapidly  along 
by  the  great  tide  of  human  action,  and  also  feels  the 
thrill  of  the  eager  pursuit  after  that  practical  and 
material  ideal  of  success  which  gives  strength  to  our 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


national  sinews,  endurance  to  our  frames,  and  inten- 
sity to  our  intellectual  energies.  With  all  this  he 
can  and  does  cordially  sympathize.  Not,  however, 
as  an  end,  but  as  a means  of  the  true  greatness 
which  is  ultimately  to  be  born  to  us  as  a nation. 
It  is  a cause  of  rejoicing  to  belong  to  a working  epoch; 
of  delight,  to  perceive  the  germs  of  those  grand 
destinies  which,  if  we  are  true  to  the  principles  of 
Christian  freedom,  will  at  our  ripened  touch  burst 
forth  into  vigorous  life.  The  nobility  and  beauty  of 
that  art  which  is  herein  delineated  were  the  fruits 
of  the  democratic  energies  and  faith  of  mediaeval 
Italy ; akin  in  spirit  to  those,  which,  in  our  own 
blood,  are  preparing  our  country  for  an  equally  glo- 
rious career  in  art : while  Italy  herself,  as  a united 
whole,  is  uprising  to  a new  birth,  to  keep  us  com- 
pany in  the  drama  of  progress.  Whatever,  therefore, 
each  American  or  Italian  can  find  to  do  to  hasten 
the  national  advance  in  art,  science,  or  religion,  he 
should  do  it  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul. 

If  there  be  overmuch  enthusiasm  in  this  work, 
it  is  the  result  of  deep-seated  feeling,  and  not  to  be 
apologized  for.  Still,  the  practical  end  of  interesting 
the  general  reader,  by  giving  in  a succinct  form  the 
facts  and  ideas  which  best  illustrate  the  periods  of 
painting  passed  in  review,  avoiding  antiquarian  pro- 
lixity without  omitting  essential  information,  has 
been  steadily  kept  in  view;  perhaps  too  much  so 
to  satisfy  captious  critics.  It  is  difficult  to  present 


PREFACE. 


IX 


the  history  of  art  in  a popular  form  and  at  the  same 
time  do  it  complete  justice.  The  public  will  not  be 
long  in  telling  the  author  how  far  he  has  failed  in 
either  respect.  It  should  not,  however,  be  forgotten 
that  these  are  simply  “Studies;”  studying  implies 
learning;  so  that  the  only  advantage  the  author  has 
over  his  readers  generally  is  that,  from  having  begun 
his  training  in  art  sooner,  possibly  he  may  be  a few 
paces  ahead  of  them  in  information.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  dear  reader,  he  commends  to  your  kindly  re- 
gard Introduction,  Body,  and  Appendix,  omitting 
nothing.  For  he  hopes  it  will  be  for  your  good  to 
read  all , as  it  has  been  for  his  to  write;  while  he 
wishes  you,  like  himself,  thorough  enjoyment  in  art. 


LIST  OF  COPPERPLATE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


face  page 

112.  Plate  A. 


u 


ll 


u 


ll 


115.  “ B. 


n u 


a a 


162.  “ C. 


n n 


a 


u 


a 


a 


a 


ll 


181.  “ D. 

n a 
a a 
a u 
n a 


Fig.  1.  Byzantine  Triptych.  Twelfth  century.  Sub- 
jects, The  Transfiguration ; The  Descent 
into  Hades  ; The  Triumph  of  the  Church 
over  Paganism. 

“ 2.  Altar-piece.  Margaritone  of  Arezzo.  1236- 
1313.  Seven  compositions. 

“ 3.  Giunta  da  Pisa.  1202-1255.  The  Cruci- 
fixion. 

“ 4.  Grasco-Italian  Altar-piece.  1190-1216.  Ma- 
donna and  Christ  in  Glory;  above,  Alle- 
gorical Representation  of  the  old  and  new 
Dispensations. 

“ 5.  Giotto.  1276-1336.  Entombment  of  the  Sa- 
viour. 

“ 6.  Altar-piece.  School  of  Siena.  Assumption  of 
the  Virgin. 

“ 7.  Giottino.  1324-1368.  The  Birth  and  Resur- 
rection of  Christ. 

“ 8.  Taddeo  Gaddi.  1300-1366.  Sts.  Peter  and 
Paul  giving  the  Sword  and  Bible  to  St. 
Dominic. 

“ 9.  Duccio  of  Siena.  1282-1339.  Two  groups 
from  his  “ Crucifixion.” 

“ 10.  Cimabue.  1240-1302.  St.  John;  from  the 
fragment  of  an  altar-piece. 

“ 11.  Byzantine.  Twelfth  century.  St.  George  kill- 
ing the  Dragon. 

o o 


u 12. 

Triptych. 

School  of  Giotto. 

1325. 

“ 13. 

Andrea  Orgagna.  1329-1376. 

St.  Peter. 

“ 14. 

do. 

do.  do. 

St.  Augustine. 

“ 15. 

do. 

do.  do. 

St.  Lucia. 

“ 16. 

do. 

do.  do. 

St.  John  the 

Baptist. 

(Figures  from  two  altar-pieces.) 


XU 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

To  face  page 

196.  Plate  E. 

Fig.  17.  Simone  Martini.  1234-1344.  An  altar-piece, 
The  Adoration  of  the  Magi,  with  the 
Annunciation  on  the  “ gradino ” 

240.  “ F. 

“ 18.  Altar-piece.  School  of  Siena.  1370. 

“ 19.  Giovanni  di  Paolo,  Siena.  1450.  St.  Cathe- 

226. “ G. 

rine  pleading  before  the  Pope. 

“ 20.  Sano  di  Pietro,  Siena.  1420-1462.  The  Cor- 

44 44 

onation  of  the  Virgin. 

“ 21.  Sano  di  Pietro,  Siena.  1420-1462.  Group 
from  a “gradino”  The  Adoration  of  the 
Magi. 

253.  “ H. 

44  44 

“ 22.  Masaccio.  1402-1443.  Birth  of  St.  John. 

“ 23.  Fra  Filippo  Lippi.  1412-1469.  St.  Jerome 
doing  penance. 

“ 24.  Filippino  Lippi.  1460-1505.  St.  Sebastian, 
part  of  Florence  in  background. 

44  44 

“ 25.  Filippino  Lippi.  1460-1505.  Head  of  Dead 
Christ ; from  a Crucifixion. 

272.  “ I. 

“ 26.  A.  Pollajuolo.  1433-1493.  The  Rape  of 
Dejanira. 

u u 

“ 27.  Luca  Signorelli.  1441-1524.  The  Adoration 
of  the  Magi. 

“ J. 

“ 28.  Gentile  da  Fabriano.  1370-1450.  Madonna 
and  Child. 

u u 

“ 29.  Cosimo  Rosselli.  1439-1506.  Madonna  in 

u u 

Glory. 

“ 30.  Sandro  Botticelli.  1437-1515.  Madonna  and 
Child. 

u u 

“ 31.  Domenico  Ghirlandajo.  1449-1498.  Madon- 
na and  Jesus,  St.  John,  and  portrait  of 
the  donor.  An  “ ex-voto  ” picture. 

333.  “ K. 

“ 32.  Pietro  Perugino.  1446-1524.  The  Baptism 
of  Christ. 

u u 

“ 33.  Raphael.  1483-1520.  A “ Piet a”  or  Dead 
Christ ; after  a design  of  Perugino. 

a u 

“ 34.  Lo  Spagna.  Flourished  1524.  The  Virgin, 
Jesus,  St.  John,  and  a group  of  Saints. 

360.  “ L. 

U U 

“ 35.  Bazzi  (Sodoma).  1474-1544.  “ Ecce  Homo.” 
“ 36.  Lorenzo  di  Credi.  1459-1537.  The  Annun- 
ciation. 

u u 

“ 3 7.  Benozzo  Gozzoli.  1424-1485.  An  Angel; 

taken  from  his  group  of  the  Annuncia- 
tion. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Xlll 


To  face  page 

324.  Plate  M. 


u a 

388.  “ N. 

U U 


352.  “ O. 


u u 


Fig.  38.  Francesco  Franeia.  1450-1517.  Portrait  of 
a princess  of  the  Vitelli  family,  Borgo  San 
Sepolcro. 

“ 39.  Domenichino.  1581-1641.  Artemisia. 

“ 40.  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  1452-1519.  Holy  Family. 

“ 41.  do.  do.  do.  Head  of  the 

infant  Jesus  in  above  picture. 

“ 42.  Ridolfo  Ghirlandajo.  1485-1560.  Altar-piece 
— Holy  Family  and  Saints. 

“ 43.  Fra  Bartolomeo.  1464-1517.  The  Dead 
Christ ; and  the  Virgin  and  Sts.  Magdalen 
and  Dominic. 


The  above  illustrations  are  taken  from  pictures  belonging  to  the  collection  made 
by  the  author,  and  were  drawn  and  engraved  by  Vincenzo  Stanghi,  a pupil  of  Ra- 
phael Morghen.  They  give  the  character  of  the  several  compositions,  and  the  artist 
has  been  happy  in  his  earlier  ones  on  a minute  scale.  But  the  later,  especially  the 
Masaccio,  Leonardo,  Raphael,  Bazzi,  Franeia,  and  Domenichino,  require  more  par- 
ticularly a reference  to  the  paintings  themselves  to  obtain  a correct  idea  of  the  manner 
of  those  artists.  A full  “ Descriptive  Catalogue”  of  the  “ Old  Masters”  collected  to 
illustrate  the  History  of  Painting  from  a.  d.  1200  to  the  best  periods  of  Italian  Art, 
with  explanatory  documents,  etc.,  will  be  found  in  a pamphlet  to  be  had  with  or 
apart  from  “Art-Studies,”  to  which,  however,  it  is  arranged  as  an  “ Appendix.” 


Erratum.  Page  445,  line  11,  for  deprecate  read  depreciate. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

PART  I. 

Page 

Art  as  an  Element  of  Civilization.  Means  of  its  Diffusion  and  Progress  in 
Europe  — in  America.  Fallacies  in  the  American  Theory  of  Govern- 
ment. Foundation  of  true  Government.  Its  Nature  and  Duties.  One- 
sidedness of  American  Political  Economy.  Apotheosis  of  Riches.  Equal 
claims  of  Art  with  Science  in  National  Culture.  The  Essential  Distinc- 
tion between  Civilization  and  Barbarism.  How  Art  refines.  Its  relation 
to  the  Religious  Faculty  — to  the  ^Esthetic  — Beauty  and  Virtue.  Art 
as  an  Aid  to  Education.  How  its  Knowledge  can  be  most  readily  dif- 
fused. The  Province  and  Capacity  of  Art.  The  Chief  Neglect  of  Amer- 
ican Education.  Taste.  Hints  for  a System  of  Art-Training.  Museums 
and  Galleries.  England  an  Example  for  America 1 

PART  n. 

Criticism  of  Art.  Popular  Fallacies.  Knowledge  indispensable.  The  In- 
stinct of  Taste.  What  is  necessary  in  the  Spectator  for  Correct  Appre- 
ciation. Two  Points  of  View  of  Criticism  — their  just  balance.  Motive, 
Choice,  Action,  Laws  of  Composition.  Duty  of  Criticism.  Superficial 
and  Sound  Criticism.  Meaning  of  Color.  The  Laws  of  Harmony  and 
Fitness.  Relative  Importance  of  Various  Departments  of  Art.  Com- 


mon and  High  Art.  The  term  Beautiful.  Recapitulation  — 1st,  Art,  in 
Degree  ; 2d,  in  Quality 22 


PART  III. 

Authenticity,  its  Nature  and  Importance.  Two  Methods  of  Investigation. 
What  is  requisite  for  Nice  Judgment.  Pitfalls  of  Amateurs  in  Europe. 
Artifices,  Trickery,  and  Fraud  in  Picture-dealing.  Anecdotes  of  Prizes, 
Prices,  and  Collectors.  Documentary  Evidence.  Fabrication,  Falsifica- 
tion, and  Repetitions  of  Originals.  Uncertainty  in  regard  to  Early  Mas- 
ters. Fresco  Painting.  Difficulties  of  Collectors.  Italian  Legislation 
and  Prohibitions.  Revived  Taste  for  Early  Art.  Restoration.  Charac- 
ter of  Local  Criticism.  Old  Masters  in  America.  Right  Feeling  for  Art.  33 


XVI 


CONTENTS. 


ART-STUDIES. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Page 

Psychological  Origin  of  Art.  Its  Functions.  The  two  great  Cycles  of 
Progress,  Paganism  and  Christianity.  Ideas  and  Character  of  each.  In 
what  the  Superiority  of  either  one  lies.  Results  of  ultimate  Triumph  of 
the  latter.  Reaction  of  Protestantism  upon  Catholicism  in  Art.  Pagan 
and  Papal  Mythology.  Necessity  of  Humanity  for  a personal  Deity. 
Olympus  and  the  new  Jerusalem.  Jupiter  and  “ Our  Father.”  Pagan 
Hades  and  Christian  Hell.  Heathen  Philosophy  less  efficacious  for  Sal- 
vation than  Christ’s  Gospel.  Why.  Paganism  the  Forerunner  of  Chris- 
tianity. No  Sect,  Race,  or  School  monopolizes  Truth  and  Beauty.  The 
Facts  of  Catholicism,  good  or  bad  in  its  Sphere  of  Faith  and  Practice,  in 
Relation  to  Art.  Final  Comparison  between  Christian  and  Greek  Art. . . 53 

CHAPTER  II. 

Christian  Art  divided  into  three  distinct  Epochs,  Theological,  Religious, 
and  Naturalistic.  Origin  and  Characteristics  of  each.  Bath-life  of  Im- 
perial Rome,  vs.  The  Art  and  Life  of  the  Catacombs.  Purism  in  Art. 
Results  of  Church  Triumphant  on  Art.  Hermit  Life.  Distinction  be- 
tween Latin  and  Byzantine  Painting.  Root  of  Latin  Art  in  the  old 
Etruscan.  Radical  Difference  between  it  and  the  Grecian  — the  one 
aiming  at  Idealization  — the  other  at  Actualization.  Greek  Guide  to 
Painting  of  Mount  Athos,  a Catechism  of  Byzantine  Art.  Its  Rules  and 
Principles.  Nature  and  Origin  of  Idolatry  and  Symbolism.  Tendency 
of  old  Facts  and  Fictions  to  new  Forms 74 

CHAPTER  III. 

Relative  Importance  of  Ideas  and  Individuals  in  History.  Conservatism 
and  Progress,  their  Nature  and  Relations.  The  fresh  Tide-wave  of  Ar- 
tistic Growth.  The  Religious  Epoch  Its  Vigor  and  Comprehensive- 
ness. A New-birth  of  Genius.  Giotto’s  O.  How  the  Age  welcomed 
Art.  The  Multitude  of  Artists.  Etruria  proper  the  chief  Site  of  the 
new  Movement.  The  great  Names  that  distinguish  it.  Methods,  Ma- 
terials, and  Frame-work  of  Mediaeval  Painting 92 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  prevailing  Style  of  Painting  in  the  Thirteenth  Century . The  Artists 
that  illustrated  it.  Giovanni,  960.  Petrolino,  1110.  Berlinghieri,  of 
Lucca,  1235.  Bastard  Byzantine  style.  Genuine  do.  Native  Italian 
School.  Examples  of  each.  Giunta  da  Pisa,  1202-1255.  Margaritone, 
of  Arezzo,  1236-1313.  The  transition  Painters.  Diotisalvi,  1227-1250, 
Ugolino,  1280-1339,  and  Guido,  1220,  of  Siena.  Tafi,  1213-1291,  and 
Gaddo  Gaddi,  1289-1312,  of  Florence.  The  Italianized  Greek  Artists 


CONTENTS. 


XVI 1 


Page 

and  School.  Apollonius.  Duccio,  of  Buoninsegna,  1282-1339.  Cima- 
bue,  1240-1302.  The  new  Delation  of  the  Church  to  Art.  Plan  of 
Analysis Ill 

CHAPTER  V. 

Giotto,  1276-1336.  His  Person  and  Character.  The  Representative  Ar- 
tist. Elements  of  the  new  Progress.  Niccola  Pisano,  1205-1273. 
Sculpture  in  the  School  of  the  Pisani  as  related  to  Painting  in  the  Thir- 
teenth Century.  Analysis  of  Giotto’s  Merits.  His  Connection  with 
Dante.  Character  of  their  Times.  Their  opposite  Tempers.  Anec- 
dotes of  the  Poet  and  Artist.  Giotto’s  Portrait  of  Dante.  How  it  was 
discovered.  Legends  of  Art,  credible  and  otherwise.  The  Poetry  of 
Giotto.  Epic  and  Lyric  Painting.  Giotto’s  Relation  to  the  former 
Phase,  and  his  Influence  upon  Art  as  a Whole  until  the  Epoch  of 
Masaccio 122 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Epic  successors  of  Giotto.  Pietro  Cavallini  of  Rome,  1259-1344. 
Buffalmacco,  the  Buffoon,  fld.  1300.  His  Works  and  Jokes.  Stefano, 
1305-1350,  the  Premature.  Giottino,  1324-1368,  the  Martyr.  Puccio 
Capanna,  the  oldest  scholar  of  Giotto.  Angelo  Gaddi,  1324-1390,  the 
Merchant-painter.  Antonio  Veneziano,  Giovanni  da  Milano,  and  Fran- 
cesco da  Volterra.  Niccola  di  Pietro,  1390.  Bruno,  1350.  Gherado 
Stamina,  1354-1408.  Cennino  Cennini,  fld.  1400,  the  Author  and  En- 
thusiast. His  Maxims,  Piety,  and  Poverty.  The  Bicci  family.  Deca- 
dence of  Giottesque  style  into  Manufacture.  The  Giotteschi  of  Padua 
and  Bologna.  Andrea  Orgagna,  1329-1376,  the  Archangel.  Bernardo, 
his  Brother.  The  Spirit  of  Fear  and  Revenge  in  Politics  and  Art  of  the 
Medisevalists.  The  Pride  and  Ambition  of  the  Florentines  — their  dia- 
bolical Amusements.  Their  Artistic  Hell  — its  Origin  — how  Peopled. 

Low  side  of  Orgagna’s  Art.  His  Imaginative  Power.  Spinello  Areti- 
no,  1308-1400,  the  Good.  Frightened  to  death  by  a Vision.  His  noble 
Character.  Parri,  his  Son.  “ The  Lot  of  the  False  Tongue.” 150 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Action  to  Repose.  Epic  to  Lyric  Painting.  Siena,  past  and  present.  Its 
Religious  Tone  in  Politics  and  Art.  Statutes  of  its  Painters.  Taddeo 
Gaddi,  1300-1366,  Simone  Martini,  1284-1344,  Jacobo  di  Casentino,  and 
others.  The  Incredulity  of  Criticism.  Lippo  Memmi,  1357.  Fra  Mar- 
tini of  Assisi.  Ambrogio  Lorenzetti,  1265-1348.  Ghiberti’s  Opinion  of. 
His  great  Work  at  Siena.  Object  and  Execution  of  Christian  Art  of 
this  Period.  The  Character  of  the  great  Artists.  Generation  of  weak 
Artists.  Andrea  Vanni,  1345-1413.  Berna  and  Pietro  di  Puccio.  Lo- 
renzo Monaco  Taddeo  di  Bartolo,  1363-1422.  Mysticism  of  Lyric  Art. 
Why  and  Wherefore.  Causes  of  its  Influence  or  Repulsion.  Lan- 
guage of  Spirit  more  subtle  and  noble  than  of  Fact  under  certain  Mental 


XV111 


CONTENTS, 


Page 

Conditions.  Opposite  Inspirations  and  Methods  of  the  two  Classes  of 
Artists,  Realists  and  Sentimentalists.  Danger  of  exclusive  Sensibility 
to  either.  The  common  End  of  their  respective  Excess.  Right  Aim  in 
Taste.  Bartolo’s  Successors  at  Siena,  and  the  last  of  the  true  Giotteschi.  186 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  religious  Idealism  of  the  Giotteschi  — their  Subjects  and  Limits.  The 
Phenomena  of  Progress.  Birth  of  Individualism  in  Painting.  Its  Defi- 
nition. Two  Currents,  Ascetic  and  Ecstatic.  Pietro  di  Lorenzetti, 
1270-1342.  Andrea  del  Castagno,  1410-1480,  the  Gibbeted.  Difficulty 
of  comprehending  the  extreme  Purists  and  Mystics.  Their  peculiar 
Stand-point  in  Eaitli  and  Art.  Reason  at  Fault.  Ecstatic  Peeling  the 
Guide.  Saints  Francis  of  Assisi  and  Catherine  of  Siena.  The  Dangers 
and  Tendencies  of  their  exceptional  Feeling.  Saintly  Artists.  Lippo 
Dalmasio,  1376-1410.  Sano  di  Pietro,  1406-1481.  Fra  Angelico,  1387- 
1455.  Analysis  of  Motives  and  Styles.  Color  as  identical  with  Char- 
acter. The  immediate  Scholars  of  Fra  Angelico.  The  Sienese  Painters, 
Francesco  Martini,  1470,  Sassetta,  1450,  Giovanni  di  Paolo,  1428-1462. 
Beautiful  Sonnet  to  the  Virgin  as  the  living  Faith  of  the  Times 211 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  New  Phase  of  Painting.  Causes  and  Character.  Naturalism.  The 
several  Functions  of  the  Progressive  Painters.  Sculpture  and  Architec- 
ture of  this  Period.  Masolino  da  Panicale,  1403-1440,  the  Forerunner. 
Dello,  the  “ Casone  ” Artist.  New  Motives,  Subjects,  and  Styles. 
Paolo  Ucello,  1396-1479,  the  Enthusiast.  Masaccio,  1402-1443,  the 
Teacher.  The  Frescoes  of  the  Carmine.  Filippo  Lippi,  1412-1469,  the 
Scapegrace.  Botticelli,  1457-1515,  the  Improvident.  Piero  della  Fran- 
cesca, 1400-1494 ; Luca  Signorelli,  1441-1524  ; Antonio,  1433-1493,  and 
Pietro  Pollajuolo,  1443-1496 ; Verrocchio,  1432-1488,  the  Scientists. 
Signorelli's  Frescoes  at  Orvieto.  German  Tribute  to  them.  Domenico 
Bartolo,  1438  ; Matteo  da  Siena,  1470  ; Baldovinetti,  1425-1499 ; Pesello, 
1380-1457  ; Pesellino,  1426-1457,  School  Artists.  Cosimo  Rosselli,  1439- 
1506.  Piero  di  Cosimo,  1441-1521,  the  Whimsical.  Triumph  of  Death. 
Eccentricities  of  his  Genius.  Filippino,  1460-1505,  the  Amiable.  In- 
novations and  Incongruities.  Domenico  Ghirlandajo,  1449-1498,  the 
Ambitious.  His  Greatness  and  Naturalness.  The  Nobility  of  his  Wait- 
ing-maids and  Angels.  His  Portraiture.  Minardi,  his  Pupil.  San  Gi- 
mignano, a living  Type  of  a Mediseval  Town 242 

CHAPTER  X. 

Byzantine  and  Mediaeval  Landscape  Art.  Classical,  Chinese,  and  Indian. 
Analogy  between  them.  Character  and  Degree  of  its  Progress  in  Italy. 

The  qualities  of  Modern  Landscape.  Note  on  Giovanni  Sanzio’s  Poem 
on  Art.  Special  Successes  of  the  Old  Masters.  Masterly  Treatment  of 
the  Landscape  by  Titian  and  Correggio.  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  1370- 


CONTENTS. 


XIX 


Page 

1450,  the  Sensuous.  His  Landscape.  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  1424-1485. 

His  Campo  Santo  Frescoes.  Pinturicchio,  1454-1515.  His  Frescoes 
at  Siena.  Assisted  by  Designs  of  Raphael 292 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Naturalistic,  Religious  Painting.  Rise  of  the  Classical  Paduan  School. 
Squarcione,  1896-1474.  Andrea  Mantegna,  1430-1506.  Venetian  and 
Tuscan  Coloring ; the  Meaning  and  Spirit  of  each.  Sensuous  aqd  Pu- 
rists’ Styles  and  Aims  in  Color.  Nature  the  Universal  “ Bible  ” of  In- 
spiration. Revelation  the  Special  do.  Causes  of  the  Decay  of  Purism 
and  Asceticism.  The  Difficulties  of  Religious  Art.  How  to  view  and 
interpret  it.  Florence  cosmopolitan  in  Art.  Umbria  mystic.  Alunno, 
1458-1492.  Fiorenzo,  1450.  Bonfigli,  1420-1496.  Giovanni  Santi, 
the  Father  of  Raphael.  Francesco  Francia,  1450-1517.  His  Sons. 
Perugino,  1446-1524.  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  1459-1537.  Fra  Bartolomeo, 
1468-1517.  Alberto  Albertinelli,  1475-1520  ? Francesco  Granacci, 
1477-1544.  Series  of  School  Artists 309 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  matured  Fruit  of  Naturalism.  Trained  Painters.  Ridolfo  Ghirlan- 
dajo,  1485-1560.  Michele  di  Ridolfo.  Domenico  Becafumi,  1484-1549. 
Giovanantonio  Bazzi  or  Sodoma,  1474-1544,  the  Buffoon  and  Rival  of 
Raphael.  His  Antics  and  Genius.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  1488-1530,  the 
Wife-ridden.  His  Talents  and  Weakness.  The  Colorists  of  this  Class 
of  Painters.  Franciabigio,  1483-1524,  the  Irritable  Bachelor.  11  Ros- 
so. Domenico.  Puligo,  1475-1527,  the  Dissipated.  Pontormo,  1493- 
1558,  the  Odd  and  Amiable.  Society  of  the  Trowel 352 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  three  great  Representative  Painters  of  the  Past  Epochs.  The  three 
great  Masters  of  the  Climax  of  Italian  Painting.  Confession  and  Plea 
of  the  Author.  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  1452-1519,  the  Complete  Artist. 

His  Person,  Acquirements,  Genius,  and  Character.  As  a Scientist, 
Philosopher,  and  Artist.  His  own  Preference.  Maxims  and  Methods. 

His  Feminine  Ideal.  The  “ Last  Supper.”  Mode  of  Composition. 
Master  of  Expression.  Portraiture.  Rarity  of  his  Works.  Illness 
and  Death.  Religious  Sentiments  and  Will.  Leonardo  as  a Failure 
and  a Success.  Time  and  Fortune  envious  of  him.  His  Quarrel  with 
Michel  Angelo.  Comparison  between  Giotto  and  Leonardo.  Their 
respective  Friends 376 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Michel  Angelo  Buonarotti,  1474-1563.  Disfigurement  of  his  Features. 
Attachment  to  Vittoria  Colonna.  His  Passions  and  Affections.  Qual- 
ity of  his  Character  and  Genius.  Independence  and  Temper.  Julius 


XX 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

II.  and  Clerical  Critics.  His  Revenge.  Satire.  Magnanimity  in  re- 
gard to  Art.  Reproves  a mean  Patron.  His  youthful  Discipline.  His 
Father  wishes  to  exorcise  the  Artist  out  of  him  by  virtue  of  Birch. 
Fails.  Ghirlandajo’s  Opinion.  Lorenzo  de’  Medici  adopts  him  and 
pensions  his  Father.  Firmness  in  overcoming  personal  Weaknesses. 

His  Wife  and  Children.  Sculpture  his  Preference.  Analysis  of  his 
Artistic  Character  .and  chief  Works.  His  Successes  and  Failures. 

“ The  Last  Judgment.”  Tombs  of  the  Medici.  His  Meaning.  Theirs. 

His  chief  Glory.  Temptations  of  Money  and  Fame.  Resistance. 
Strong  of  Will  and  Work  to  the  last.  His  Death.  Religious  Feeling. 
Influence  upon  Art.  Daniele  da  Yolterra  and  Sebastiano  del  Piombo, 
his  chief  Scholars 412 


CHAPTER  XY. 

The  Power  of  a Name  over  Feeling.  Whose  Name  in  Art  most  pleas- 
antly excites  Feeling.  Raffaello  Santi,  or  Raphael,  1483-1520.  His 
Birth,  Infancy,  Boyhood,  Education,  Orphanage.  Becomes  a Pupil  of 
Perugino.  Goes  to  Florence.  New  Friends  and  Associations.  The 
Charm  of  his  Character.  Whence  and  What.  Rivalry  with  Buo- 
narotti  at  Rome.  Intrigue  against  him.  Court  of  Leo  X.  Aretino 
and  Vittoria  Colonna,  the  Extremes  of  the  Character  of  the  Times. 
Raphael’s  Amiability.  Adaptability  to  Place  and  Circumstance.  Sus- 
ceptibility and  Sensibility.  Connection  with  the  Fornarina.  Escapes 
being  a Cardinal  and  Benedict.  Cause  of  his  Death.  His  Universalism. 
Breadth  of  Temperament.  Analysis  of  his  Purism,  Naturalism,  and 
Classicalism.  His  Relations  to  Painting  in  general.  Chief  Merits  and 
the  Reverse.  Why  Raphael  is  the  greatest  of  Painters 439 

CHAPTER  XYI. 

Other  Italian  Schools.  Scholars  of  Leonardo  and  Raphael.  Correggio. 

The  Decline  of  the  Florentine  School.  Extinction  of  Religious  Senti- 
ment. The  new  Taste  of  the  Times.  Correggio’s  License.  Giovanni 
di  S.  Giovanni’s  indecorous  Fresco  at  Fiesole.  The  Eclectics  of  Bo- 
logna. De  Brosses’s  Opinion  of  Early  Masters.  French  and  English 
public  Taste  of  the  last  Century.  Object  in  reviewing  Christian  Paint- 
ing. Its  three  Aspects.  First,  the  Theological,  its  Character.  Second- 
ly, the  Religious  and  its  two  Branches.  Danger  of  undue  Reverence 
for  the  Past.  Mistake  of  Modern  Artists.  The  third  Aspect,  or  the 
Naturalistic.  Its  Origin,  past  and  present  Condition,  and  Promise. 
Distinction  between  the  Catholic  and  Protestant  Phases  of  Art.  Rela- 
tive Strength  and  Weakness.  Tendencies,  Needs,  and  Results,  as  the 
Fruit  of  their  Elementary  and  Fundamental  Antagonisms.  The  Future 
of  Painting.  Its  Exaltation  inseparable  from  Religion,  as  in  past  Times. 
Quality  of  its  future  Aspirations  and  Teachings.  A limitless  Field  of 
Invention  open  to  it.  Author’s  Parting  Wish 467 


INTRODUCTION. 


PART  I. 

Art  as  an  Element  of  Civilization.  Means  of  its  Diffusion  and  Progress  in 
Europe — in  America.  Fallacies  in  the  American  Theory  of  Government. 
Foundation  of  true  Government.  Its  Nature  and  Duties.  One-sidedness  of 
American  Political  Economy.  Apotheosis  of  Riches.  Equal  claims  of  Art  with 
Science  in  National  Culture.  The  Essential  Distinction  between  Civilization 
and  Barbarism.  How  Art  refines.  Its  relation  to  the  Religious  Faculty  — to 
the  ^Esthetic — Beauty  and  Virtue.  Art  as  an  Aid  to  Education.  How  its 
Knowledge  can  be  most  readily  diffused.  The  Province  and  Capacity  of  Art. 
The  Chief  Neglect  of  American  Education.  Taste.  Hints  for  a System  of 
Art-Training.  Museums  and  Galleries.  England  an  Example  for  America. 

The  total  result  of  human  progress  we  term  Civiliza- 
tion. This  word  epitomizes  morality  under  the  aspect  of 
religion,  art,  and  science,  and  the  consequent  good  order, 
refinement,  and  well-being:  of  men.  These  conditions  being; 
the  aims  of  human  effort,  it  behooves  us  not  only  to  atten- 
tively study  their  elements,  hut  by  every  available  means  to 
add  to  the  general  Happiness  which  springs  from  them,  and 
which,  rightly  understood,  is  the  great  Duty  of  life. 

By  Happiness,  we  mean  that  welfare  which  results  from 
understanding  and  obeying  Divine  Law.  It  is  based  upon 
the  harmonious  action  of  the  moral,  intellectual  and  physical 
man,  to  the  intent  to  grow  in  knowledge,  virtue,  and  health. 
Art  being  one  of  the  essential  conditions  of  civilization,  it  is 
well  to  establish,  on  fundamental  principles,  its  claims  to 
serious  consideration. 

Science  represents  the  Strength  of  civilization  ; Art  its 
Beauty.  Their  harmonious  union  preserves  the  rightful  bal- 
ance between  spirit  and  matter. 

l 


FALLACIES  IN  GOVERNMENT. 


2 

We  now  propose  briefly  to  discuss  tlie  means  for  the  dif- 
fusion and  progress  of  Art.  These  means  spring  from  indi- 
vidual effort  and  governmental  action.  The  former  is  regu- 
lated  by  the  will  and  capacity.  In  the  degree  that  they  are 
strengthened  and  enlightened  will  be  the  activity  and  influ- 
ence of  their  possessor.  In  America,  government  being  based 
upon  the  popular  understanding,  the  efficiency  of  the  one  is 
in  the  ratio  of  the  enlightenment  of  the  other.  Hence,  in 
pressing  home  an  argument  which  embraces  the  welfare  of 
the  people,  their  understandings  must  be  convinced  and  their 
interests  aroused,  before  their  action  can  be  felt  under  the 
form  of  government.  While,  therefore,  the  individual  must 
decide  for  himself  how  he  can  best  promote  civilization  by 
advancing  art,  it  is  desirable  to  awaken  the  national  mind 
to  a more  active  sense  of  its  duties  towards  it. 

There  are  two  conspicuous  fallacies  in  the  American  the- 
ory of  government.  First,  that  all  men  are  born  free  and 
equal ; and  secondly,  that  the  will  of  the  majority  is  the  true 
source  of  rule.  Nature  disproves  the  former  in  every  type 
of  her  works,  while  man  by  his  infirmities  gives  the  lie  to  the 
latter.  True  government  is  founded,  not  upon  the  divine 
right  of  kings,  but  of  great  principles,  which,  as  the  breath 
of  life  from  the  Creator,  pervade  creation,  vitalizing  its  exist- 
ence by  eternal  laws  of  truth,  beauty,  and  love,  temporarily 
subdued  to  the  license  of  human  will,  out  of  which,  Phoenix- 
like, arise  individual  development  and  general  progress.  Peal 
government  is  of  necessity  a despotism,  in  the  sense  of  enforc- 
ing obedience,  as  we  see  in  the  inflexible  operation  of  Provi- 
dence. Obedience  is  the  corollary  of  Law.  All  order  is 
rooted  in  law.  This  is  heaven.  Disorder  is  hell.  Hence, 
by  whomsoever  public  affairs  are  guided,  his  rule  is  valid 
only  as  he  discovers  and  applies  the  laws  of  God  to  the 
happiness  of  man.  The  credentials  of  emperor,  priest,  lynch- 
judge,  or  president,  are  all  stereotyped  upon  the  same  parch- 
ment, and  are  wanting  as  each  fails  in  recognizing  the  uni- 
versal Authority  which  points  out  u the  way,  the  truth,  the 
life.”  Perfect  government  will  arrive  only  when  the  under- 


TRUE  GOVERNMENT. 


3 


standings  of  all  men,  enlightened  as  to  the  true  character  of 
divine  law,  yield  a willing  obedience  through  the  spirit  of 
love.  Then  the  wisdom  of  the  prophets  who  discern  the 
signs  in  the  heavens  and  walk  in  the  way  thereof,  be  they 
few  or  many,  will  be  the  true  fountain  of  rule.  Until  in  the 
fulness  of  progress  that  time  comes,  however  much  we  creep 
or  stumble,  let  us  lift  our  faces  heavenward  in  earnest  faith 
and  effort. 

Recognizing  divinity  as  the  legitimate  basis  of  government, 
it  follows  that  the  temporal  authority  is  genuine  only  as  it  is 
affiliated  with  the  divine.  This  may  be  manifested  through 
one  will  or  many,  so  that  no  form  is  of  itself  absolutely  or 
necessarily  right.  The  more  enlightened  the  ruling  will, 
morality  being  equal,  the  better  the  government.  Hence,  to 
whatever  form  of  authority  mankind  submit,  the  vital  prob- 
lem is  not,  whether  it  is  legitimatized  by  a crown  or  vote, 
but  whether  its  qualifications  best  secure  liberty  of  self-devel- 
opment and  universal  progress.  The  sole  solid  foundation  of 
political  power  is  the  intelligent  assent  of  the  governed. 

In  America  the  will  of  the  majority  governs.  Whatever, 
therefore,  concerns  the  science  of  government,  before  it  can 
have  executive  force,  must  receive  the  sanction  of  the  people 
themselves.  In  Europe,  on  the  contrary,  the  government 
itself,  in  Art,  Science,  and  even  Religion,  takes  the  initiative 
in  change  or  progress,  or  seeks  to  guide  each  for  its  special 
purposes.  The  American  method  throws  the  responsibility 
of  action  or  inaction  directly  upon  those  whose  interests  are 
most  largely  at  stake.  Their  own  suffrages  decide  their  good 
and  evil.  It  is,  however,  difficult  to  arouse  the  masses  from 
their  routine  of  thought  or  action,  or  to  awaken  in  them 
higher  aspirations  than  their  more  pressing  material  interests 
or  pleasures.  But  their  intelligence  once  set  in  motion,  its 
momentum  carries  them  forward  like  an  ocean-surge,  until  a 
new  cycle  of  progress  being  fulfilled,  it  spends  itself  on  the 
shores  of  eternity. 

Happiness  being  the  aim  of  the  individual  and  the  object 
of  the  government,  whatever  best  secures  it  in  an  elevated 


4f 


APOTHEOSIS  OF  RICHES. 


sense,  is  to  each  a paramount  duty.  All  rulers  profess  to  be 
solicitous  for  the  material  welfare  of  their  peoples.  As  food, 
shelter,  and  health,  are  the  primary  conditions  of  being,  no 
government  is  challenged  for  assuming  the  responsibilities  that 
attend  their  production  and  regulation.  But  political  economy 
has  even  a loftier  mission  than  cotton  and  corn.  It  embraces 
other  subjects  of  social  importance  beside  telegraphs  and  rail- 
roads. It  has  to  deal  with  something  more  than  crops,  kine, 
or  taxation.  Man’s  back  and  belly  are  not  the  total  of  his 
organization.  A pate  de  foie  grase  is  a nice  thing ; so  is  an 
easy  chair.  Wealth  is  a prophet,  and  to  be  hearkened  to. 
Luxury  ripens  civilization.  It  would  be  joy  indeed  to  know 
that  every  one  was  well-fed,  well-lodged,  and  well-clad.  It  is 
noble  to  harness  lightning  and  enslave  steam.  Antipodal  price- 
currents  that  have  outrun  time  in  their  race  to  markets  are  a 
keen  whet  to  a merchant’s  breakfast  appetite.  The  electrical 
pulse  of  commerce  now  beats  a healthful  measure  around  the 
globe.  All  praise  to  riches  ! Science  has  fairly  won  its  apo- 
theosis. Golden,  very  golden  is  our  Diana  ! ! All  hail,  there- 
fore, material  progress  ! ! ! 

Government  wearies  its  brains  in  attempts  to  solve  the 
relations  between  gastric  juice  a-hungered  and  thievery;  alco- 
hol and  brutality  ; passion  and  crime : and  in  despair  of  better 
solution,  seeks  security  and  solace  in  dungeons  and  hangings. 
It  is  easier  — at  all  events,  quicker — to  turn  a bolt  or  to 
wrench  a spine,  than  to  reform.  Repression  rather  than  pre- 
vention, like  to  like,  violence  to  violence,  not  liomeopathically 
applied,  but  in  allopathic  dose:  such  has  been  the  convenient 
panacea  of  nations  for  the  social  antagonisms  bred  from  the 
putridities  of  civilization.  Better  than  utter  license  are  these 
mutitudinous  cliokings  and  lockups.  Evil  is  not  to  be  lightly 
said  of  things  useful  in  their  day  and  way.  But  there  is 
another  remedy  now  struggling  for  room  in  the  human  heart. 
We  know  all  about  mine  and  thine  as  goods  and  chattels. 
We  fully  comprehend  how  blood,  bone,  and  muscle,  thrive 
on  grain,  beef,  and  grape.  Our  harvests,  though  not  alto- 
gether equitably  divided,  are  enough  to  annihilate  hunger. 


MEANING  OF  BEAUTY. 


5 


Comfort — yes,  luxury — are  household  gods.  But  we  do  not 
sufficiently  feel  that  we  have  senses  more  important  in  our 
souls’  growth  than  even  these.  Of  dust  the  former  are  born, 
and  they  go  down  to  the  dust.  Of  the  spirit  are  horn  the 
latter,  and  they  aspire  to  lieayen.  The  world  is  a-hungered 
for  spiritual  food. 

What  nature  is  to  God,  art  is  to  man  ; his  interpretation  of 
Beauty  — the  reflected  image  of  his  soul.  Beauty  comprises 
not  merely  form  and  color  to  please  our  senses,  but  every 
degree  of  moral  truth  and  intellectual  gratification  that  can  be 
represented  or  suggested  by  artistic  skill,  inspired  either  by 
imitative  or  creative  faculties.  In  its  ordinary  acceptation  it 
is  too  much  confounded  with  pleasure.  True  delight  in  art 
depends  upon  its  fidelity  to  noble  truth.  Art  which  is  merely 
external,  is  ever  wanton  or  superficial. 

Refinement  being  the  essential  distinction  between  civiliza- 
tion  and  barbarism,  whatever  increases  it  is  of  paramount 
consideration.  The  degree  of  refinement  among  all  races 
has  been  in  the  ratio  of  their  culture  of  art.  Refinement 
does  not  necessarily  include  morality.  That,  being  based 
upon  the  religious  idea,  may  be  quite  independent  of  art. 
Art  is  pure  and  a people  virtuous,  to  the  extent  that  religion 
is  the  controlling  sentiment.  Corruption  of  manners  and 
political  degradation  have,  it  is  true,  been  contemporaneous 
with  great  artistic  acquirements.  But,  in  such  examples,  art 
had  become  the  sensual  image  of  festered  passions,  or  else  the 
gross  agent  of  superstition.  Being  but  the  chiselled  or  col- 
ored index  of  the  soul’s  loves  or  thoughts,  it  reflects  the 
quality  of  the  mind  that  begets  it,  with  the  clearness  of  light. 
It  is  a vulgar  error  to  consider  art  of  itself  as  a corruptor. 
It  is  simply  a means  in  the  rise  and  fall  of  nations.  As  the 
hearts  of  peoples  shape  it,  so  it  is  — neither  better  nor  worse 
than  themselves.  A corruptor  if  they  seek  corruption ; a 
purifier  if  they  seek  purification. 

How  does  Art  refine  ? 

No  one  is  so  simple  as  to  doubt  that  science  is  conducive  to 
progress.  Neither  would  any  one  in  regard  to  art,  were  its 


6 


HOW  DOES  ART  REFINE  ] 


nature  and  principles  as  well  known  as  are  those  of  the 
former.  But  while  the  laws  of  matter  have  been  attentively 
studied,  those  of  the  faculty  which  takes  cognizance  of  the 
language  addressed  to  the  soul,  have  been  either  thrust  aside, 
or  made  of  accidental  or  secondary  importance.  Yet,  in  the 
scale  of  humanity,  they  are  higher  in  origin  and  loftier  in 
purpose.  They  speak  directly,  through  the  imagination  and 
feeling,  to  those  aspirations  which  hind  human  nature  to  im- 
mortality. They  assuage  man’s  thirst  for  beauty ; they  stimu- 
late his  idealization  ; they  incite  his  desire  for  perfection  ; they 
connect  by  symbolization  all  material  nature  with  the  nobler 
existences  of  futurity  : the  seen  becomes  the  intelligible  cor- 
respondence of  the  unseen,  and  the  panting  soul  finds  peace 
and  joy  in  the  Present,  inasmuch  as,  with  the  prophetic  eye 
and  ear  of  art,  it  beholds  the  windows  of  heaven  opened,  and 
hears  celestial  voices  calling  to  it  therefrom. 

Without  these  images  of  truth  and  beauty,  shown  either 
through  the  imagination  or  created  by  art,  there  can  be  no  real 
refinement  of  soul.  Indeed,  there  can  be  no  soul,  for  there  is 
no  immortality  for  it  to  live  upon.  Vicious  artists,  there  have 
been  — unbelieving  artists,  never.  Art  is  significant  of  faith. 
Wherever  art  has  been  purest  and  noblest,  religious  faith  has 
been  most  active.  Ancient  Greece  and  mediaeval  Italy  bear 
evidence  to  this.  And  not  alone  Italy,  but  all  Europe  of  the 
middle  ages.  Olympus  and  paradise,  cathedral  and  temple, 
have  descended  to  us  in  plastic  testimony  to  this  truth.  And 
religion  was  refined  and  beautiful  as  it  made  a handmaid  of 
art  — foul  and  unlovely  as  it  enslaved  it.  Finally,  art,  by 
refining  the  forms  of  religion,  lifts  the  soul  by  the  ties  of 
beauty  to  the  unseen,  whence  all  goodness  descends.  Like 
gold,  it  blesses  him  whose  heart  and  hands  are  clean.  Like 
gold,  if  wedded  to  vileness,  it  taints  all  that  it  touches. 

Next  in  importance  to  its  influence  upon  the  religious  fac- 
ulty, is  its  power  to  refine  the  intellect,  to  enlarge  its  field  of 
observation,  to  give  a wider  scope  of  action  to  its  powers,  and 
by  the  harmonies  of  form  and  color,  as  with  the  magnetism 
of  music,  to  place  the  entire  being  in  sympathy  with  Beauty 


THE  PROVINCE  OF  ART. 


7 


under  every  condition  of  loveliness  which  the  beneficent  Crea- 
tor has  lavished  upon  his  works.  Man  is  lifted  by  art  above 
sordid  care  and  vulgar  necessity,  and  instructed  in  the  speech 
of  the  soul.  The  Past  and  Future  become  the  Present.  An- 
tiquity holds  converse  with  Modernism.  Through  its  agency 
great  thoughts  speak  out  in  one  universal  tongue  to  all  the 
world.  The  grandeur  and  extent  of  the  universe ; every- 
thing that  has  a being  upon  our  planet ; the  far-off  wonder, 
and  the  landscape  that  fronts  our  hearth-stones ; every  thought 
that  thrills  the  mind ; each  affection  that  nestles  in  the  heart ; 
God’s  image  in  man ; His  lessons  graven  on  stones,  or  painted 
on  the  sky  ; the  prophetic  threat  and  promised  blessing ; all  that 
tries  humanity  or  sustains  it ; man’s  entire  compass  of  happi- 
ness and  misery,  faith  and  doubt ; all  this  is  the  province  of  art. 
Nothing  that  the  human  intellect  can  conceive  is  beyond  its 
aspiration  to  represent.  By  its  laws  man  himself  becomes  a 
creator.  Soaring  far  beyond  the  range  of  visible  things,  his 
imagination  projects  new  worlds,  new  beings,  and  demonstrates 
its  immortality  through  its  infinity  of  power.  Whatever, 
therefore,  expands  the  divine  gift,  multiplying  God’s  talents,  is 
worthy  of  earnest  cultivation. 

Beauty,  in  its  highest  significance,  and  goodness,  are  synon- 
ymous. Abstract  beauty  of  line  and  color  exist  independent 
of  moral  quality.  Man  may  lust  for  that  beauty  which  sug- 
gests passion  ; but  no  sooner  has  his  concupiscence  touched  it 
than  it  becomes  a foul  and  loathsome  thing.  There  is  a beauty 
in  the  nice  adaptation  of  means  to  ends  by  Nature  throughout 
all  her  works  ; a scientific  beauty  of  uses,  irrespective  of  senti- 
ment. But  the  satisfaction  to  the  thoughtful  mind,  lies  less  in 
mere  shape  and  hue  than  in  the  design  they  display,  — the  fit 
adjustment  of  the  meanest  and  most  unlovely  things  in  the 
scale  of  creation,  and  the  unwitting  evidence  borne  by  them 
to  a divine  cause  and  plan.  The  existence  of  every  creature, 
whatever  its  comparative  position,  discloses  mysteries  of  divine 
goodness  beautiful  to  recognize  in  the  broad  symphony  of  cre- 
ation. Hence,  there  is  no  perception  of  wisdom  or  goodness 
without  an  accompanying  recognition  of  the  beautiful.  As 


8 


EFFECT  OF  ART  ON  MANNERS. 


art  is  enabled  to  make  manifest  these  aspects  of  Nature,  the 
understanding  becomes  quickened  with  divine  light.  Grati- 
tude arises  to  the  Giver.  Our  moral  and  intellectual  faculties 
becoming  reinvigorated,  we  make  a step  forward  in  our  eternal 
progress. 

Secondary  to  this  mental  exaltation  and  expansion,  but  of 
almost  equal  importance,  is  the  effect  of  noble  art,  by  the 
subtle  harmonies  of  the  beautiful,  upon  manners.  A keen 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful  predisposes  to  the  beautiful  in 
action.  Such  a mind  craves  grace,  symmetry,  and  adap- 
tation in  all  things.  It  wages  continual  war  against  whatever 
offends  the  eye  or  suggests  wrong,  ugliness,  or  artifice.  A 
correct  taste  is  akin  to  correct  morals ; purity  of  habits  to 
purity  of  mind;  while  public  order  and  cleanliness  are  indis- 
pensable to  a high  degree  of  artistic  development.  A fine 
taste  may  exist  apart  from  correct  morals,  and  the  reverse, 
just  as  we  often  see  order  and  neatness  without  any  feeling 
for  art,  and  the  opposite.  In  the  mixed  human  faculties  we 
constantly  find  strange  incongruities  arising  from  the  lack 
of  the  proper  development  and  harmonious  balance  of  the 
entire  mind.  Often  the  people  of  Italy  disgust  the  less 
artistic  northern  races  by  gross  violations  of  public  decency 
and  cleanliness : and  it  also  sometimes  occurs  that  highly 
cultivated  minds  are  equally  vicious.  These  instances  are, 
however,  exceptional.  Traced  home,  we  find  that  they  ob- 
tain among  those  whose  condition  in  life  is  low  and  rude,  or 
whose  taste  for  art  is  of  secondary  consideration  to  egotism 
and  vice.  Watered  from  an  impure  spring,  it  necessarily  par- 
takes of  the  dominant  traits  of  the  individual  character,  and  is 
a thing  quite  apart  from  a pure  love  of  art  for  its  own  worth. 
The  proposition  at  large  remains  true.  No  people  can  properly 
cultivate  art  without  growing  refined  and  predisposed  towards 
those  virtues  connected  with  the  appreciation  of  the  beautiful. 

At  the  best,  prisons  and  punishments  are  an  expensive  means 
of  but  dubious  efficacy  for  regulating  society.  Art  tends  to 
prevent  crime,  by  proffering  to  the  people  new  and  exhaustless 
pleasures,  which  enlarge  their  faculties,  stimulate  their  obser- 


ITS  INFLUENCE  ON  SOCIETY. 


9 


vation,  and  predispose  them  to  brotherhood  by  a language  in- 
telligible to  the  entire  civilized  world,  thus  securing  to  them 
sources  of  happiness  and  knowledge  as  free  as  the  air  they 
breathe.  Under  the  constant  and  profuse  inspiration  of  noble 
art,  by  the  intense  sympathy  it  begets  for  beauty,  the  physical 
appearance  of  a race  also  improves.  Greece  and  Italy  evinced 
this.  Legislators,  therefore,  in  developing  art,  not  only  pro- 
vide means  for  the  exercise  of  the  higher  faculties,  which, 
when  starved,  give  way  to  animal  enjoyments,  but  help  the 
finer  development  of  our  species  by  suggesting  desires  for 
nobler  bodies  as  the  habitations  of  nobler  souls. 

How  can  we  best  diffuse  a knowledge  of  art  ? 

In  Europe  the  art-element  has  a recognized  position  in  social 
and  political  economy.  The  governors  and  governed  alike  ac- 
knowledge it  to  be  an  essential  principle  of  civilization.  By 
all  classes  it  is  viewed  as  a necessity  of  life,  on  a par  in  social 
needs  with  sewerage,  pure  water,  and  gas.  Some  thinkers 
even  venture  the  opinion  that  its  culture  is  as  requisite  for  the 
healthful  growth  of  the  mind  as  that  of  wheat  for  the  body ; 
that  the  heart  needs  ventilation  quite  as  much  as  the  dormi- 
tory. With  us,  the  public  voice  is  dumb.  There  is  no  uni- 
versal demand  for  Beauty.  Yet  the  divine  spark  exists  in  us, 
and  needs  hut  encouragement  to  grow  into  a bright  and  steady 
light.  This  will  not  be,  however,  until  we  convince  ourselves 
that  art  is  not  the  peculiar  province  of  the  few  born  to  genius, 
or  the  isolated  department  of  egotistical  amateurs,  claiming  it 
as  a specialty  too  elevated  for  the  crowd.  Art  is  not  an  object 
of  distant  wonder  and  curiosity  — an  impenetrable  mystery,  for 
a self-elected  priesthood.  It  craves  to  be  the  familiar  object 
of  all,  free  to  every  one.  We  are  apt  to  look  upon  it  as  an 
exceptional  phase  of  intellect ; a thing  merely  of  statues  and 
pictures,  to  be  coldly  and  curiously  gazed  upon.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  a loving,  refining,  joyful,  household  friend. 
There  is  nothing  too  humble  for  it  to  care  for,  nor  too  ele- 
vated for  it  to  reach.  It  fraternizes  with  Nature,  and  adorns 
parks  and  grounds ; it  leaves  its  fairy  footmarks  on  lawn  and 
parterre;  it  speaks  of  immortality  in  our  grave-yards,  making 


10 


THE  USES  OF  ART. 


our  cemeteries  places  of  hope  and  consolation  to  the  living, 
baptizing  the  saddened  soul  with  future  joy ; it  disdains  not  to 
point  a moral  and  bestow  grace  upon  the  tea-cup ; it  finds  a 
resting-place  on  chair  or  bedstead;  kisses  the  lips  of  beauty 
from  the  crystal  goblet,  and  shuns  not  the  uses  of  kitchen 
or  toilet ; it  adorns  the  limbs  of  loveliness,  and  nestles  in  the 
bosoms  of  the  fair  ; it  lends  graceful  outline  and  beauteous 
color  to  garments ; it  sparkles  from  metal  and  jewel ; spreads 
its  mantle  over  cot  and  palace ; prophesies  and  preaches  from 
legislative  hall  and  cathedral ; carries  flowers  and  sunshine 
into  our  dwellings,  and  writes  on  our  walls  the  history,  wis- 
dom, and  portraiture  of  the  past ; it  prepares  surprises  of 
beauty  in  our  streets  and  villas ; clings  lovingly  to  prince  or 
peasant,  innoculating  with  living  joys  every  heart  that  bids 
it  welcome  : in  short,  art,  with  the  mystery  of  loveliness  and 
the  openness  of  truth,  the  humility  of  the  sanctified  spirit, 
and  the  capacity  of  the  celestial,  is  ever  ready  to  impene- 
trate all  that  the  necessities  of  life  demand  or  the  soul  longs 
for,  with  the  charms  of  its  perpetual  youth  and  the  sugges- 
tiveness of  those  spiritualities  whose  germs  lie  far  down  in  the 
soul  of  man,  awaiting  only  its  quickening  touch  to  commence 
their  progressive  unfoldment  for  Eternity. 

Such  being  the  province  and  capacity  of  art,  our  mental 
blindness,  in  overlooking  its  claims,  is  very  strange.  We  pub- 
licly proclaim  that  we  prefer  life’s  rugged  and  material  aspect  to 
its  joyful  and  spiritual  beholdings,  and  while  priding  ourselves 
in  the  completeness  of  our  systems  of  education,  forget  their 
great  deficiency.  Yet  it  is  as  essential  to  a complete  mental 
training  to  understand  the  principles  of  correct  taste,  or 
those  laws  which  create  Beauty,  and  to  define  its  meaning, 
as  to  comprehend  the  science  of  numbers  or  the  phenomena  of 
chemistry.  Indeed,  in  the  measure  of  our  social  happiness,  they 
are  of  greater  importance.  It  is  not  necessary  to  be  familiar 
with  the  mechanical  details  of  art,  except  as  accessories  to 
critical  analysis  or  investigation  of  styles  and  methods.  It 
is,  however,  important  to  understand,  not  only  its  sesthetical 
rules,  but  those  profound  intellectual  and  moral  principles 


TEST  OF  TASTE. 


11 


which  are  at  the  root  of  all  art.  There  can  be  no  intelli- 
gent appreciation  of  art  without  the  cultivation  of  those  facul- 
ties that  take  note  of  it.  Though  the  feeling  for  art  is  indeed 
spontaneous,  its  correct  development  depends  upon  education. 
Best  work  is  not  the  readiest  recognized  by  the  uninformed 
mind.  The  eye  requires  training  to  detect  the  niceties  of 
artistic  expression,  both  in  form  and  color,  just  as  the  ear  does 
for  music.  Each  requires  the  full  sympathy  of  the  soul  for 
entire  appreciation.  The  test  of  taste  is  the  quality  of  its 
likings.  If  it  go  spontaneously  to  the  false,  shallow,  or  vic- 
ious, it  indicates  corresponding  mental  proclivities  ; if  to  the 
noble  and  true,  an  innate  love  of  beauty  and  goodness.  Art- 
education,  rightly  conducted,  is  not  only  a delight,  but  a source 
of  virtue.  Apart  from  the  discernment  of  the  false  or  super- 
ficial, or  the  appreciation  of  pure  sentiment,  the  eye  is  exer- 
cised to  detect  error  in  design,  or  lack  of  harmony  in  color, 
and  the  mind  notes  whether  it  be  of  ignorance  or  wantonness. 
By  such  practice,  a standard  of  correct  taste  in  the  fundamen- 
tal principles  of  the  head  and  heart  may  be  formed. 

Taste,  in  its  popular  acceptation,  is  simply  rudimentary 
liking  or  dislike.  Its  natural  quality  depends  upon  the  tem- 
perament of  the  individual,  but  it  is  capricious  or  intelligent 
according  to  cultivation.  Teaching  will  not,  it  is  true,  of 
itself  create  either  artists  or  a feeling  for  art.  But  it  can 
develop  talent  wherever  it  discovers  it,  and  so  elevate  the 
standard  of  artistic  knowledge  and  technical  skill  as  to  produce 
enlightened  criticism  and  pure  taste. 

A knowledge  of  art  tends  to  self-knowledge,  inasmuch  as  an 
analysis  of  the  laws  of  beauty  and  taste  promote  an  under- 
standing of  the  powers  and  purpose  of  the  soul.  The  imag- 
ination is  disciplined  to  regular  action,  as  is  reason  by  the 
the  investigation  of  science.  Its  vagaries  are  checked,  and 
its  movements  understood,  so  that  it  becomes  subdued  from 
erratic,  unlicensed  activity,  deceptive  and  reckless  because 
lawless  or  stimulated  by  erotic  desire,  to  be  the  medium  of 
the  purest  delight  and  deepest  insight  into  the  world  of 
ideas  and  facts. 


12 


ART-EDUCATION. 


By  what  means  may  a knowledge  and  appreciation  of  art 
be  best  promoted  ? 

By  the  establishment  of  professorships  of  art  on  the  same 
footing  as  those  for  science  and  literature,  in  our  advanced 
seminaries  and  colleges,  a foundation  may  be  laid  of  a sound 
training  of  artistic  feeling,  and  a national  enlightenment  as 
to  its  scope  and  mission.  Design  and  coloring  need  not  be 
technically  taught,  but  the  laws  which  underlie  their  truth  and 
harmony  $o  demonstrated,  that  bad  taste,  like  bad  manners, 
would  be  instinctively  disliked  and  avoided.  But  the  chief 
value  of  this  branch  of  education  would  be  in  teaching:  the 
principles  and  objects  of  art,  its  relation  to  history  and  civ- 
ilization, and  particularly  its  connection,  in  all  times,  with  the 
religious  and  emotional  sentiments,  and  its  close  affinity  with 
the  imaginative  and  creative  faculties.  A course  of  instruc- 
tion  of  this  character,  with  appropriate  illustrations,  would 
not  only  enable  the  student  to  classify  art  according  to  its 
origin,  genealogy,  and  the  quality  of  the  mind  it  represents, 
but  would  gradually  create  an  intelligent  public  opinion,  cal- 
culated to  arouse  the  artistic  mind  to  its  fullest  capacity,  by 
not  only  demanding  noble  motive  and  superior  execution,  but 
by  resolutely  exposing  imbecility  and  artifice.  Art  should 
lead  the  public.  When  it  is  unequal  to  this,  an  enlightened 
criticism  will,  at  all  events,  prevent  its  sinking  beneath  its 
level.  If,  however,  it  address  itself  to  an  uninformed  or 
indifferent  audience  its  action  will  be  capricious,  its  spirit 
mean,  and  its  deceit  frequent. 

The  primary  mission  of  art  is  the  instruction  and  enjoyment 
of  the  people.  Hence,  its  first  duty  is  to  make  our  public  build- 
ings and  places  as  instructive  and  enjoyable  as  possible.  They 
should  be  pleasant  places,  full  of  attractive  beauty  and  elo- 
quent teachings.  Picturesque  groupings  of  natural  objects, 
architectural  surprises,  sermons  from  the  sculptor’s  chisel  and 
painter’s  palette,  the  ravishment  of  the  soul  by  its  superior 
senses,  the  refinement  of  mind  and  body  by  the  sympathetic 
power  of  beauty  ; these  are  a portion  of  the  means  which  a 
due  estimation  of  art  as  an  element  of  civilization  inspires  the 


DUTY  OF  GOVERNMENT. 


13 


ruling  will  to  provide  freely  for  all.  If  art  be  kept  a rare  and 
tabooed  thing,  a specialty  for  the  rich  and  powerful,  it  excites 
in  the  vulgar  mind  envy  and  hate.  But  proffer  it  freely  to  the 
public,  and  the  public  soon  learns  to  delight  in  it,  and  claim 
and  protect  it  as  its  rightful  inheritance.  During  the  civil 
strifes  of  Italy  art  flourished  and  was  respected.  Even  rude 
soldiers,  amid  the  perils  and  necessities  of  sieges,  turned  aside 
destruction  from  the  walls  that  sheltered  it.  The  history  of 
art  is  full  of  records  of  its  power  to  soften  and  elevate  the 
human  heart.  As  soon  would  man,  were  it  possible,  mar  one 
of  God’s  sunsets,  as  cease  to  respect  what  genius  has  confided 
to  his  care,  when  once  his  mind  has  been  awakened  to  its 
meaning.  First,  therefore,  educate  the  people  in  the  principles 
of  art,  and  then  scatter  among  them,  with  lavish  hand,  free  as 
water,  its  richest  treasures. 

The  feeling  for  art  being  awakened,  museums  to  illustrate 
its  technical  and  historical  progress,  and  galleries  to  exhibit  its 
master-works,  become  indispensable.  In  the  light  of  education, 
appropriations  for  such  purposes  are  as  much  a duty  of  the 
government,  as  for  any  other  purpose  connected  with  the  true 
welfare  of  the  people.  The  responsibilities  of  government 
extend  over  the  entire  social  system.  Indeed,  unless  its  care 
reaches  the  whole  range  of  human  needs  and  faculties,  it  de- 
stroys the  proper  balance  of  mental  growth,  and  places  itself 
in  inharmonious  relations  with  the  intents  of  its  institution. 
The  world  wants  complete  men  — men  whose  physical,  moral, 
and  intellectual  powers  are  correspondingly  exercised  and  devel- 
oped — harmonious  men,  interiorly  and  exteriorly  satisfied  by  a 
due  degree  of  activity  and  education,  provided  equally  for  all 
their  powers.  Government  should  base  its  qualifications  to 
govern,  upon  its  capacity  in  developing  such  citizens.  The 
error  of  American  civilization  is  in  its  material  one-sidedness, 
and  forced  culture  of  a portion  of  the  faculties  at  the  expense 
of  the  remaining;  ones.  We  are  in  danger  of  losing  our  men- 
tal  and  physical  equilibrium  ; alcohol  and  tobacco  consuming 
our  bowels  after  one  manner,  and  commercial  selfishness  and 
political  chicanery  our  brains  in  another.  Hence,  the  greater 


ERROR  OF  AMERICAN  CIVILIZATION. 


11 

necessity  of  the  elevating  and  neutralizing  influences  attending 
the  culture  of  high  art. 

In  free  countries,  primary  public  efforts  begin  with  individ- 
uals, and  their  objects,  be  they  railroads,  hospitals,  or  colleges, 
are  subsequently  sanctioned  and  aided  by  government,  in 
accordance  with  their  merits.  With  us,  art  must  follow  the 
same  path.  Private  enterprise  alone  can  be  relied  on,  for  the 
aresent,  to  initiate  means  of  instruction,  galleries,  and  to  pro- 
vide artistic  adornment  for  public  grounds.  In  time,  however, 
the  nation  will  charge  itself  with  the  work.  But  this  result 
will  not  arrive,  until,  in  the  due  course  of  the  realization 
of  the  benefits  derivable  from  the  general  culture  of  art,  the 
government  is  invested  by  public  opinion  with  full  powers  to 
direct  and  foster  such  a means  of  civilization  on  a scale  com- 
mensurate with  the  growth  and  grandeur  of  the  nation.  In 
this  respect,  England  is  setting  us  a wise  example.  Yet  it  is 
barely  fifty  years  since  England  refused  the  gift  of  the  pictures 
that  now  constitute  the  Dulwich  gallery.  So  rapidly,  how- 
ever, did  public  opinion  and  taste  become  enlightened,  that 
twenty-five  years  afterwards  Parliament  voted  <£57,000  for 
the  purchase  of  thirty-eight  pictures  collected  by  Mr.  An- 
gerstein.  This  was  the  commencement  of  their  National 
Gallery.  In  1790,  but  three  national  galleries  existed  in 
Europe,  — those  of  Dresden,  Florence,  and  Amsterdam.  The 
Louvre  was  then  first  originated,  by  a decree  of  the  Constitu- 
ent Assembly  of  France.  Both  countries  now  spend  with 
open  hand  on  schools  of  design,  the  accumulation  of  treasures 
of  art  of  every  epoch  and  character,  and  whatever  tends  to 
elevate  the  taste  and  enlarge  the  means  of  the  artistic  educa- 
tion of  their  people,  perceiving,  with  far-sighted  wisdom,  that 
through  improved  manufacture  and  riper  civilization,  eventu- 
ally a ten-fold  return  will  result  to  their  revenue.  The  nations 
of  Europe  exult  over  a rare  acquisition  to  their  galleries,  though 
its  cost  may  have  exceeded  $100,000.  We  are  in  that  stage 
of  indifference  and  neglect  that  one  of  our  wealthiest  cities  . 
recently  refused  to  accept  the  donation  of  a gallery  of  some 
300  pictures,  collected  by  a generous  lover  of  art,  because 


USES  OF  GALLERIES  OF  ART. 


15 


it  did  not  wish  to  be  put  to  the  expense  of  finding  a locality 
for  them.  But  this  spirit  is  departing,  and  now  our  slowness, 
or  reluctance,  is  rather  the  result  of  a want  of  knowledge  and 
critical  judgment,  than  of  a lack  of  feeling  for  art. 

To  stimulate  this  feeling,  it  is  requisite  that  our  public  should 
have  free  access  to  museums,  or  galleries,  in  which  shall  be 
exhibited,  in  chronological  series,  specimens  of  the  art  of  all 
nations  and  schools,  arranged  according  to  their  motives  and 
the  special  influences  that  attended  their  development.  After 
this  manner  a mental  and  artistic  history  of  the  world  may  he 
spread  out  like  a chart  before  the  student,  while  the  artist, 
with  equal  facility,  can  trace  up  to  their  origin  the  varied 
methods,  styles,  and  excellences  of  each  prominent  epoch. 
A gallery  of  art  is  a perpetual  feast  of  the  most  intense  and 
refined  enjoyment,  to  every  one  capable  of  entering  into  its 
phases  of  thought  and  execution,  and  of  analyzing  its  external 
and  internal  being,  and  tracing  the  mysterious  transformations 
of  spirit  into  form.  But  galleries,  as  they  now-  exist,  formed 
upon  no  consecutive  plan,  are  like  the  disjointed  pages  of  a 
hook,  one  being  at  Berlin,  another  at  Paris,  Rome,  Florence, 
Madrid,  London,  Munich,  Vienna,  or  St.  Petersburg  ; no  one 
of  these  singly  affording  a complete  view  of  the  history  and 
progress  of  art,  as  should  he  the  design  of  each,  and  necessi- 
tating the  visiting  of  all  to  obtain  a perfect  view  of  painting  at 
large. 

It  has  been  well  said,  that  a complete  gallery,  on  a broad 
foundation,  in  which  all  tastes,  styles,  and  methods  har- 
moniously mingle,  is  a court  of  final  appeal  of  one  phase 
of  civilization  against  another,  from  an  examination  of  which 
we  can  sum  up  their  respective  qualities  and  merits,  draw- 
ing therefrom,  for  our  own  edification,  as  from  a perpetual 
well-spring  of  inspiration  and  knowledge.  But  if  we  sit  in 
judgment  upon  the  great  departed,  they  likewise  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  us.  And  it  is  precisely  where  such  means  of  test- 
ing artistic  growth  best  exist,  that  modern  art  is  at  once  most 
humble  and  most  aspiring  ; conscious  of  its  own  power,  and,  in 
many  respects,  superior  technical  advantages,  both  it  and  the 


16 


EDIFICES  FOR  MUSEUMS  OF  ART. 


public  are  still  content  to  go  to  the  Past  for  instruction,  each 
seeking  to  rise  above  the  transitory  bias  of  fashion  or  local 
ideas,  to  a standard  of  taste  that  will  abide  world-wide  com- 
parison and  criticism. 

An  edifice  for  a gallery,  or  museum  of  art,  should  be  fire- 
proof, sufficiently  isolated  for  light  and  effective  ornamen- 
tation, and  constructed  so  as  to  admit  of  indefinite  extension. 
Its  chief  feature  should  be  the  suitable  accommodation  and 
exhibition  of  its  contents.  But  provision  should  be  made  for 
its  becoming,  eventually,  in  architectural  effect,  consistent  with 
its  object.  The  skeleton  of  such  a building  need  not  be  costly. 
Its  chief  expense  would  be  in  its  ultimate  adornment  with 
marble  facings,  richly  colored  stones,  sculpture  or  frescos, 
according  to  a design  which  should  enforce  strict  purity  of 
taste  and  conformity  to  its  motive.  This  gradual  completion, 
as  happened  to  the  mediaeval  monuments  of  Europe,  could  be 
extended  through  many  successive  generations,  which  would 
thus  be  linked  with  one  another  in  a common  object  of  artistic 
and  patriotic  pride,  gradually  growing  up  in  their  midst,  as  a 
national  monument,  with  its  foundations  deeply  laid  in  a unity 
of  feeling  and  those  desirable  associations  of  love  and  venera- 
tion, which,  in  older  civilizations,  so  delightfully  harmonize  the 
past  with  the  present.  Each  epoch  of  artists  would  be  in- 
structed by  the  skill  of  its  predecessor,  and  stimulated  to  con- 
nect its  name  permanently  with  so  glorious  a shrine.  Wealth, 
as  in  the  days  of  democratic  Greece  and  Italy,  would  be  lav- 
ished upon  the  completion  of  a temple  of  art  destined  to 
endure,  as  long  as  material  can  defy  time,  as  a monument  of 
the  people’s  taste  and  munificence.  Then  would  be  born 
among  them  the  spirit  of  those  Athenians  who  said  to  Phidias, 
when  he  asked  if  he  should  use  ivory  or  marble  for  the  statue 
of  their  protecting  goddess,  “ use  that  material  which  is  most 
worthy  of  our  city.” 

Until  recently,  no  attention  has  been  paid,  even  in  Europe, 
to  historical  sequence  and  special  motives,  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  galleries.  As  in  the  Pitti  Gallery,  pictures  were 
generally  hung  so  as  to  conform  to  the  symmetry  of  the 


ARRANGEMENT  OF  GALLERIES. 


17 


rooms  ; various  styles,  schools,  and  epochs,  being  intermixed. 
As  the  progress  of  ideas  is  of  more  importance  to  note  than 
the  variations  of  styles,  or  degrees  of  technical  merit,  the  chief 
attention  in  selection  and  position  should  be  given  to  lucidly 
exhibit  the  varied  phases  of  artistic  thought,  among  the  diverse 
races,  and  widely  separated  eras  and  inspirations  which  gave 
them  being.  The  mechanism  of  art  is,  however,  so  intimately 
interwoven  with  the  idea,  that,  by  giving  precedence  to  the 
latter,  we  most  readily  arrive  at  the  best  arrangement  of  the 
former.  Each  cycle  of  civilization  should  have  its  special 
department,  Paganism  and  Christianity  being  kept  apart,  and 
not,  as  in  the  Florentine  gallery,  intermixed,  presenting  a 
strange  jumble  of  classical  statuary  and  modern  paintings,  in 
anachronistic  disorder,  to  the  loss  of  the  finest  properties  of 
each  to  the  eye,  and  the  destruction  of  that  unity  of  motive 
and  harmonious  association  so  essential  to  the  proper  exhibi- 
tion of  art.  For  it  is  essential  that  every  variety  of  artistic 
development  should  be  associated  solely  with  those  objects  or 
conditions  most  in  keeping  with  its  inspiration.  In  this  way 
we  quickest  come  to  an  understanding  of  its  originating  idea, 
and  sympathize  with  its  feeling,  tracing  its  progress  from 
infancy  to  maturity  and  decay,  and  comparing  it,  as  a whole, 
wdth  corresponding  or  rival  varieties  of  artistic  development. 
This  systematized  variety  of  one  great  unity  is  of  the  highest 
importance  in  placing  the  spectator  in  affinity  with  art  as  a 
whole,  and  its  diversities  of  character,  and  in  giving  him  sound 
standpoints  of  comparison  and  criticism.  In  this  way,  as  in 
the  Louvre,  feeling  and  thought  are  readily  transported  from 
one  epoch  of  civilization  to  another,  grasping  the  motives  and 
execution  of  each  with  pleasurable  accuracy.  We  perceive 
that  no  conventional  standard  of  criticism,  founded  upon  the 
opinions  or  fashions  of  one  age,  is  applicable  to  all.  To 
rightly  comprehend  each,  we  must  broadly  survey  the  entire 
ground  of  art,  and  make  ourselves,  for  the  time,  members,  as 
it  were,  of  the  political  and  social  conditions  of  life  that  gave 
origin  to  the  objects  of  our  investigations.  This  philosophical 
mode  of  viewing  art  does  not  exclude  an  gestlietic  point  of 


18 


SCHOOLS  OF  DESIGN. 


view,  but  rather  heightens  that,  and  makes  it  more  intelligible. 
Paganism  could  be  subdivided  into  the  various  national  forms 
that  illustrated  its  rise  and  fall ; Egypt,  India,  China,  Assyria, 
Greece,  Etruria,  and  Pome,  each  by  itself,  as  a component 
part  of  a great  whole.  So  with  Christianity,  in  such  shapes  as 
have  already  taken  foothold  on  history ; the  Latin,  Byzantine, 
Lombard,  Mediaeval,  Penaissant,  and  Protestant  art,  subdi- 
vided into  its  diversified  schools  or  leading  ideas,  all  graphically 
arranged,  so  as  to  demonstrate,  amid  the  infinite  varieties  of 
humanity,  a divine  unity  of  origin  and  design,  linking  together 
mankind  into  one  common  family. 

Beside  statuary  and  paintings,  an  institution  of  this  nature 
should  contain  specimens  of  every  kind  of  industry  in  which 
art  is  the  primary  inspiration,  to  illustrate  the  qualities  and 
degrees  of  social  refinement  of  nations  and  eras.  This  would 
include  all  varieties  of  ornamental,  transitory,  or  portable  art, 
in  which  invention  and  skill  are  conspicuous,  as  well  as  those 
works  more  directly  inspired  by  higher  motives,  and  intended 
as  “ a joy  forever.”  Architecture,  and  objects  not  transport- 
able could  be  represented  by  casts,  or  photographs.  Models, 
drawings,  and  engravings,  also  come  within  its  scope,  and  there 
should  be  attached  to  the  parent  gallery  a library  of  reference, 
and  lecture  and  reading  rooms. 

Connected  with  it  there  might  be  schools  of  Design,  for 
improvement  in  ornamental  manufacture,  the  development  of 
architecture,  and  whatever  aids  to  refine  and  give  beauty  to 
social  life,  including  a simple  academic  system  for  the  element- 
ary branches  of  drawing  and  coloring,  upon  a scientific  basis 
of  accumulated  knowledge  and  experience,  providing  models 
and  other  advantages  not  readily  accessible  to  private  re- 
sources, but  leaving  individual  genius  free  to  follow  its  own 
promptings,  upon  a well-laid  technical  foundation.  As  soon 
as  the  young  artist  has  acquired  the  grammar  of  his  profession, 
he  should  be  sent  forth  to  study  direct  from  Nature,  and  to 
mature  his  inventive  faculties  unfettered  by  authoritative  aca- 
demic system,  which  more  frequently  fosters  conventionalism, 
and  imposes  trammels  upon  talent,  than  endows  it  with 
strength  and  freedom. 


NATIONAL  GALLERY  OF  ENGLAND. 


19 


Such  is  a brief  sketch  of  institutions  feasible  amongst  us, 
from  humble  beginnings  by  individual  enterprise.  Once 
founded,  and  their  value  demonstrated,  the  countenance  of 
the  State  might  be  hopefully  invoked.  Their  very  existence 
would  become  an  incentive  to  munificent  gifts.  Individuals 
owning:  fine  works  of  art  would  grow  ambitious  to  have  their 
memories  associated  with  patriotic  enterprise.  Art  invokes 
liberality,  and  evokes  fraternity.  The  sentiment  that  there 
is  a common  property  in  the  productions  of  genius,  making 
possession  a trust  for  the  public  welfare,  would  increase  among 
those  by  whose  taste  and  wealth  they  have  been  accumulated. 
Masterpieces  would  cease  to  be  regarded  as  the  selfish  acquisi- 
tions of  covetous  amateurs,  and,  like  spoken  truth,  become  the 
inalienable  birthright  of  the  peoples  ; finding  their  way  freely 
and  generously  through  the  magnetic  influences  of  public  spirit 
and  pertinent  examples  to  those  depositories  where  they  can 
most  efficaciously  perform  their  mission  of  truth  and  beauty  to 
the  world.  Then  the  people  themselves  will  begin  to  take 
pride  in  their  artistic  wealth,  to  honor  artists  as  they  now  do 
soldiers  and  statesmen,  and  to  value  the  more  highly  those 
virtues  which  are  interwoven  with  all  noble  effort.  In  1823, 
when  the  National  Gallery  of  England  was  founded,  the 
English  were  nearly  as  dead  to  art  as  we  are  now.  A few 
amateurs  alone  cultivated  it,  but  there  was  no  general  sym- 
pathy with,  nor  knowledge  of  it.  Yet,  by  1837,  in  donations 
alone,  the  gallery  had  received  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
pictures.  Since  that  period,  gifts  have  increased  tenfold  in 
value  and  numbers.  Up  to  1860,  while  but  two  hundred 
and  one  pictures  in  all  have  been  purchased,  four  hundred 
and  sixty-four,  including  the  Sheepshanks  collection,  have 
been  given,  and  with  the  Turner  gallery,  two  hundred  and 
fourteen  bequeathed  to  the  nation.  Connected  with  the  Na- 
tional Gallery,  and  a part  of  that  noble,  comprehensive,  munifi- 
cent system  of  art-education  which  the  British  government  has 
incited,  are  the  British  and  South  Kensington  Museums,  with 
their  widely  expanded  and  wisely  directed  systems  of  intellec- 
tual training.  Schools  of  Design,  with  every  appliance  for  the 


20 


ART-EXPENDITURE  OF  ENGLAND. 


growth  of  art,  have  rapidly  sprung  into  existence.  Private 
enterprise  and  research  have  correspondingly  increased.  Brit- 
ish agents,  with  unstinted  means,  are  everywhere  ransacking 
the  earth  in  quest  of  everything  that  can  add  to  the  value  and 
utility  of  their  national  and  private  collections.  A keen  regard 
for  all  that  concerns  art,  a desire  for  its  national  development, 
an  enlightened  standard  of  criticism,  and  with  it  the  most  elo- 
quent art-literature  of  any  tongue,  have  all  recently  sprung 
into  existence  in  our  mother-land.  All  honor  to  those  gener- 
ous spirits  that  have  produced  this  — and  honor  to  the  nation 
that  so  wisely  expends  its  wealth.  A noble  example  for  Amer- 
ica ! England  also  throws  open  to  the  competition  of  the  world 
plans  for  her  public  buildings  and  monuments.  Mistakes  and 
defects  there  have  been,  as  in  every  human  effort,  but  an 
honest  desire  for  amendment,  and  to  promote  the  intellectual 
growth  of  the  nation,  now  characterize  her  pioneers  in  this 
cause.  And  what  progress  ! Between  1823  and  1850,  on 
the  Museum  alone,  there  have  been  expended  $10,000,000. 
Within  twelve  years,  $450,000  have  been  expended  on  the 
National  Gallery  for  pictures,  and  yet  its  largest  access  of 
treasures  is  by  gifts  and  bequests.  Lately,  beside  the  Pisani 
Veronese  bought  for  $70,000,  eight  other  paintings  have 
been  purchased  at  the  expense  of  $50,000.  $36,000,  in 

1858,  were  given  for  the  choice  of  twenty  of  the  early  Ital- 
ian schools,  from  the  Lombardi-Baldi  gallery,  at  Florence  ; 
not  masterpieces,  but  simply  characteristic  specimens,  more 
or  less  restored.  The  average  cost  of  late  acquisitions,  has 
been  about  $6,000  each.  In  1858,  there  were  823,000  visitors 
to  both  branches  of  the  National  Gallery.  Who  can  esti- 
mate the  pleasure  and  instruction  afforded  by  such  an  institu- 
tion to  its  million  of  annual  visitors,  and  the  ideas  and  inspira- 
tion thence  borne,  destined  to  fructify  and  grow  into  the  glory 
and  good  of  the  nation  ? At  present  there  are  seventy-seven 
schools  of  art  in  England,  attended  by  68,000  students.  In 

1859,  these,  and  kindred  institutions,  received  a public  grant 
of  nearly  $450,000.  The  appropriation  for  the  British  Mu- 
seum alone,  for  1860,  is  nearly  $400,000.  To  the  Louvre, 


EXAMPLE  OF  EUROPE. 


o\ 

Louis  XVIII.  added  one  hundred  and  eleven  pictures,  at  a 
cost  of  about  $132,000  ; Charles  X.,  twenty-four,  at  $12,000  ; 
Louis  Phillipe,  fifty-three,  at  $14,500 ; and  Xapoleon  III., 
thus  far,  thirty  paintings,  costing  $200,000,  one  of  which,  the 
Murillo,  cost  $125,000.  Russia  is  following  in  the  same 
path.  Italy,  Greece,  and  Egypt,  by  stringent  regulations, 
are  making  it  yearly  more  difficult  for  any  precious  work  to 
leave  their  shores.  If,  therefore,  America  is  ever  to  follow 
in  the  same  path,  she  must  soon  bestir  herself,  or  she  will  have 
nothin g but  barren  fields  to  glean  from.* 

* The  following  are  the  number  of  pictures  in  the  chief  public  galleries  of  Europe. 
At  Rome,  in  the  Vatican,  thirty-seven  — in  the  Capitol,  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
five.  The  Brera,  at  Milan,  has  five  hundred  and  three.  Naples,  seven  hundred. 
The  Pitti,  at  Florence,  has  five  hundred.  The  Uffizi,  more  than  twelve  hundred,  and 
the  Academy  nearly  four  hundred  more.  The  Venetian  and  Bolognese  Academies 
number  about  three  hundred  each.  The  Stadel  Institution,  at  Frankfort,  has  three 
hundred  and  fifty.  In  the  Amsterdam  Museum  there  are  three  hundred  and  eighty- 
six — at  the  Hague,  three  hundred  and  four.  Brussels  boasts  four  hundred  and 
upwards,  and  Antwerp  nearly  the  same  number.  The  Pinacothek,  at  Munich,  one 
thousand  two  hundred  and  seventy,  and  Berlin  one  thousand  three  hundred  and 
fifty.  These  two  galleries  have  been  established  but  a short  time.  The  Louvre 
counts  one  thousand  eight  hundred,  the  collection  at  Madrid  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  thirty-three,  and  that  at  Dresden  about  two  thousand  pictures.  Ver- 
sailles has  nearly  three  thousand  pictures,  illustrative  of  French  history.  The  Bor- 
ghese,  at  Rome,  one  of  the  largest  and  best  of  private  galleries,  contains  five  hundred 
and  twenty-six  paintings. 


CRITICISM  OF  ART. 


22 


PART  II. 

Criticism  of  Art.  Popular  Fallacies.  Knowledge  indispensable.  The  Instinct  of 
Taste.  What  is  necessary  in  the  Spectator  for  Correct  Appreciation.  Two 
Points  of  View  of  Criticism  — their  just  balance.  Motive,  Choice,  Action, 
Laws  of  Composition.  Duty  of  Criticism.  Superficial  and  Sound  Criticism. 
Meaning  of  Color.  The  Laws  of  Harmony  and  Fitness.  Relative  Importance 
of  Various  Departments  of  Art.  Common  and  High  Art.  The  term  Beautiful. 
Recapitulation  — 1st,  Art,  in  Degree ; 2d,  in  Quality. 

If  we  recognize  tlie  principles  and  history  of  Art  as  a 
branch  of  general  education,  and  stimulate  its  production,  it 
is  necessary  to  know  something  of  the  rules  of  criticism. 
We  can  but  briefly  point  out  some  of  the  most  obvious 
considerations.  On  so  subtle  a subject,  in  the  allotted  space 
of  an  introduction,  an  exhaustive  essay  is  not  to  be  expected. 
At  the  very  best,  we  can  only  throw  out  such  ideas  or  sugges- 
tions as  are  most  applicable  to  the  object  in  view,  leaving  our 
readers  to  tone  them  according  to  their  own  feelings  and 
knowledge.  But  taste,  like  conscience,  is  subject  to  law. 
There  is  a right  and  wrong  in  beauty,  as  in  morals.  Yet 
no  fallacy  is  more  universal  than  that  so  persistently  urged 
by  novices  in  art : “ I like  it,  or  dislike  it,  and  therefore  it  must 
be  good  or  bad ; it  pleases  or  displeases  me,  and  that  is  all  I 
care  about  it.”  And  such  is  the  vulgar  standard  of  criticism 
to  which  artists  sometimes  submit,  or  worse,  pander,  to  the 
utter  disregard  of  their  own  better  informed  taste. 

A correct  appreciation  of  objects  of  art,  according  to  their 
relative  position  in  the  scale  of  ideal  beauty,  or  even  strictly 
naturalistic  truth,  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  a corresponding 
cultivation  of  the  eye  and  taste.  Elevated  sentiment,  ele- 
gant form,  and  harmonious  coloring,  are  not  the  great  attrac- 
tions of  the  uninformed  masses,  in  popular  exhibitions.  The 
Greek  and  Italian  races  are  to  the  manor  born  of  the  beautiful, 
and  freely  and  sympathetically  recognize  it  in  all  shapes  and 
under  all  conditions  of  art  or  life ; their  highest  enjoyments 


POPULAR  CRITICISM. 


23 


being  in  its  spontaneous  recognition.  But  among  ourselves  and 
our  immediate  relations  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the 
reverse  of  this  is  the  popular  fact.  We  have  yet  to  learn  to 
appreciate  and  prefer  the  higher  qualities  of  art ; to  estimate 
at  their  true  difference  the  low  or  common  from  the  ideal  and 
noble.  Museums  of  natural  objects  still  have  the  preference 
with  us  over  galleries  of  art.  At  the  Great  Exhibition  of 
1851,  in  London,  it  was  observed  by  Sir  J.  G.  Wilkinson, 
that  the  largest  crowds  were  collected  about  the  stuffed  ani- 
mals and  the  illustrated  story  of  Reynard,  the  Fox.  The 
difference  between  objects  of  natural  history  and  of  high-art,  as 
food  for  the  intellect,  is  the  difference  between  God’s  working 
through  matter  or  through  mind.  The  one  is  Formation,  the 
other  Creation  ; law  ruling  the  former,  free-will  the  latter. 
There  is,  therefore,  an  imperative  necessity,  if  we  would 
learn  to  distinguish  objects  at  their  true  value,  of  having  art 
of  every  degree  within  our  reach  to  study.  Beginning  with 
a crude  admiration  of  mere  imitation  of  common  objects,  as 
childhood  does  with  its  toys,  as  our  minds  expand  and  intellect 
is  trained,  we  shall  gradually  rise  to  the  quick  perception  and 
full  enjoyment  of  best  work  and  loftiest  thought. 

There  can  be  no  intelligent  criticism  without  a correspond- 
ing knowledge.  The  foundation  of  appreciation  in  the  spec- 
tator, and  the  root  of  success  in  the  artist,  each  lies  in  the 
proper  understanding  and  perfect  feeling  of  both  for  the  sub- 
ject, and  their  mutual  disdain  of  ignoble  art.  The  quality  of 
criticism  depends  upon  the  moral  and  intellectual  cultivation 
of  the  community.  As  the  heart  is  pure  and  good,  so  will  it 
exact  holy  and  truthful  motive.  In  the  ratio  of  study  and 
experience  will  the  spectator  be  qualified  to  decide  how  far  the 
artist  gives  correct  expression  to  material.  A susceptible  tem- 
perament or  lively  fancy  will  be  spontaneously  moved  by  every 
artistic  affinity.  The  artist  can,  therefore,  with  propriety,  sub- 
mit to  the  natural  emotions  to  test  how  far  his  work  is  endowed 
with  genuine  feeling.  It  is  his  province,  first,  to  excite  sensa- 
tions ; secondly,  to  instruct.  For  success  in  the  former,  it  is 
indispensable  that  he  should  be  largely  imbued  with  the  pas- 


24 


THE  INSTINCT  OF  TASTE. 


sions  and  sentiments  common  to  tlie  universal  heart,  and  so  to 
impregnate  his  work  with  humanity  that  it  shall  quicken  all 
kindred  feeling.  Thus  far  the  instinct  of  taste  may  be  trusted. 
It  is  the  test  of  fraternity  between  the  spectator  and  the  artist, 
and  is  refined  or  rude  according  to  constitutional  bias.  By 
association  or  exercise  it  may  grow  nobler  or  baser.  Mor- 
ally, it  is  of  the  highest  value  in  pointing  out  the  proclivities 
of  the  soul.  But  as  a guide,  it  is  dubious  and  liable  to  lead 
ditcliwise,  unless  disciplined  by  intellect. 

When  art  assumes  to  teach,  it  is  intelligible  only  as  the  level 
of  the  spectator’s  comprehension  approaches  its  own  standard 
of  knowledge.  Hence,  it  is  all-important  that  its  audience 
should  be  intellectually  qualified  to  analyze  its  entire  condi- 
tions of  being.  Sympathetic  thought  is  founded  upon  sympa- 
thetic capacity,  not  of  hands,  for  that  is  the  prerogative  of 
genius,  given  for  the  express  purpose  of  creation,  but  of  the 
innate  power  to  comprehend.  In  this  sense,  before  the  artist 
can  receive  full  justice,  a mental  equilibrium  must  be  estab- 
lished between  himself  and  his  critic.  Although  the  faculty  of 
creating  art  may  be  withheld,  by  means  of  a disciplined  imag- 
ination and  mental  culture,  the  spectator  may  become  an 
intelligent  judge  of  the  highest  efforts. 

There  are  two  generic  points  of  view  of  criticism,  which 
embrace  all  minor  features.  These  are  founded  upon  the 
predominance  of  either  the  perceptive  faculties,  taking  primary 
cognizance  of  externals,  or  the  superior  sentiments,  which  look 
directly  to  the  inner  sense  of  things.  Sound  criticism  depends 
upon  their  well  adjusted  balance.  The  former,  in  its  superficial 
aspect,  is  the  basis  of  popular  judgment.  The  latter,  that  of  the 
few  who  possess  that  keen  spiritual  appreciation,  which  is  the 
fruit  of  a peculiarly  gifted  organization,  giving  them,  as  with  nice 
ears  for  music,  additional  senses  of  enjoyment.  With  such,  the 
eye  is  the  window  of  the  soul,  lighting  up  the  interior  meaning 
of  things.  Yet,  even  with  them,  study  and  experience  increase 
their  subtlety  and  depth  of  vision.  How  much  more,  then, 
do  the  faculties  of  obtuse  and  indifferent  persons  need  educa- 
tion, to  enable  them  to  appreciate  the  entire  meaning  of  art! 


HIGHEST  OFFICE  OF  CRITICISM. 


25 


The  first,  and  highest  office  of  criticism,  is  to  penetrate  the 
motive.  This  includes  inspiration,  intention,  compass,  and 
composition,  as  an  entirety  ; in  fine,  the  spirit  that  animates 
the  idea  and  vitalizes  its  forms.  Lines,  hues,  and  sounds,  are 
but  the  alphabet.  Their  nse  and  combination  make  up  the 
speech  of  art.  Consequently,  the  first  consideration  should 
he,  not  its  grammar,  but  the  quality  of  its  soul. 

To  feel  and  comprehend  this,  the  inquirer  must  put  himself 
in  affinity  with  the  peculiar  conditions  of  mind  which  have 
given  being  to  the  phase  of  art  he  proposes  to  examine.  To 
appreciate  pagan  or  catholic  art,  it  is  not  requisite  to  be  a 
pagan  or  papist,  but  is  essential  that  he  should  let  himself 
sufficiently  into  the  local  feeling  and  thought  of  his  subject  as 
to  do  justice  to  the  Past,  while  summoning  it  to  respond  before 
the  varied  conditions  and  superior  progress  of  the  Present. 
Without  an  effort  to  know  the  Why  and  Whereto  of  our 
predecessors,  we  will  fail  in  an  adequate  conception  of  their 
work,  and  limit  our  range  of  judgment  to  the  narrow  measure 
of  an  individual  life.  How  often  contempt,  ridicule,  or  neg- 
lect, are  meted  to  objects  at  a superficial  view,  which,  upon  a 
close  acquaintance,  kindle  pleasurable  emotions,  and  demand 
profound  respect ! 

The  power  of  sentiment  over  mechanical  execution,  to 
awaken  feeling  at  sight,  is  a satisfactory  proof  of  the  supe- 
riority of  the  soul  over  matter,  for  spirit  attracts  spirit  as 
persistently  as  water  seeks  a level.  Consequently,  if  in  look- 
ing upon  art,  however  uncouth,  as  in  some  Byzantine  forms, 
or  marvellously  beautiful,  as  in  the  best  days  of  Greece,  the 
spectator  is  directly  impressed  with  the  motive  of  the  artist,  and 
his  fidelity  of  expression,  he  may  be  assured  that  he  is  in  the 
right  path  to  a correct  understanding  of  it.  When  the  sen- 
timent is  promptly  recognized  as  pure  and  noble,  the  most 
important  element  of  art  is  at  its  foundation,  both  in  the  work 
and  the  critic. 

The  second  point  of  view  is  that  which  takes  cognizance  of 
externals.  This  includes  the  entire  question  of  technical  merit, 
or  how  far  the  artist  has  been  successful  in  clothing  his  idea  in 


26 


CHOICE.  COMPOSITION. 


its  fittest  shape  and  hue.  A full  analysis  embraces  a wide  range 
of  professional  skill.  The  chief  points,  however,  according  to 
their  order,  which  decide  the  relative  merits  of  works  of  art, 
in  both  of  the  above  respects,  may  he  put  in  few  words. 

First,  Choice.  A motive  may  be  good,  but  the  choice, 
which  relates  to  the  particular  form  or  expression  to  be  given  to 
the  idea,  may  be  poor.  Hence,  criticism  must  first  exact  that 
the  choice  shall  be  such  as  best  defines  the  motive  of  the  artist. 

Included  in  choice  are  the  period  and  extent  of  action. 
Grecian  artists,  with  whom  the  aesthetic  motive  was  the  ruling 
inspiration,  paid  much  attention  to  these  points.  They  sought 
to  bestow  upon  art  its  best  possible  conditions  of  time,  repose, 
or  movement,  corresponding  to  the  emotions  they  wished  to 
excite.  There  is  a climax  to  every  sentiment  or  act,  as  there 
is  a best  position  for  sight.  As  the  artist  departs  from  them, 
he  becomes  weak,  with  a tendency  to  exaggeration  or  carica- 
ture, faults  which  the  Byzantine  and  Graeco-Italian  schools 
fell  into  from  neglecting  the  law  of -beauty  for  what,  to  them, 
were  the  superior  claims  of  mystic  thought  or  religious  feel- 
ing, thus  making  art  secondary  to  theology ; while  subse- 
quently, in  the  decadence  of  the  Tuscan  schools,  in  the  16th 
century,  noble  motive  and  pure  design  were  lost  in  the  vanity 
of  academic  display  and  misplaced  science;  anatomical  dexter- 
ity being  preferred  to  the  higher  calls  of  art. 

Composition,  or  the  arrangement  of  the  subject,  comes  next 
in  importance.  Talent  is  often  sunk  in  mediocrity  from  neg- 
lect of  its  laws.  However  effective  the  motive,  and  judicious 
the  choice,  both  are  lost  upon  the  spectator  if  the  artist  fail 
to  combine  them  so  as  to  present  a central  point  of  interest  to 
which  all  else  harmoniously  tends,  preserving  a unity  of  action 
and  sentiment,  combined  with  symmetrical  and  natural  con- 
struction and  invention,  while  admitting  as  much  variety  of 
accessories  and  expression  as  is  consistent  with  the  idea  as  a 
whole.  In  its  widest  and  loftiest  significance,  it  is  creative , 
and  may  be  said  to  include  also  motive  and  choice.  It  then 
becomes  the  profoundest  test  of  genius.  The  materials  pro- 
vided by  the  Creator,  whether  in  the  natural  world,  or  the 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  COMPOSITION. 


27 


sphere  of  mind,  are  used  as  aids  or  suggestions,  from  which, 
by  the  alchemic  power  of  the  imagination,  genius  creates  new 
worlds  of  thought  and  emotion,  and  opens  to  view  the  myste- 
ries of  inner  life. 

The  characteristics  of  Composition  as  Design,  are  breadth, 
strength,  freedom,  grace,  fertility,  and  insight : as  color,  trans- 
parency, depth,  gradation,  fusion,  lucidity,  clearness,  harmony, 
and  tone  ; in  fine,  of  all  qualities  in  each,  in  relation  to  the  sub- 
ject, which  may  be  included  in  natural  truth.  By  their  degree 
of  harmony  and  fidelity  to  nature  we  are  to  decide  upon  the 
technical  merits  of  art ; and  while  admitting  the  superiority 
of  creative  talent,  we  must  insist  that  art,  like  its  prototype, 
nature,  shall  be  diligent  and  exact  in  every  portion  of  her 
work.  It  must  not  merely  suggest  great  powers,  but  clothe 
them  in  forms  of  like  excellence.  Genius,  however  fertile  of 
thought  and  vigorous  of  stroke,  cannot  do  this  without  submit- 
ting  to  the  law  of  labor.  Seemingly,  great  artists  do  their 
best  work  without  labor.  But  analyze  it,  and  every  detail  of 
invention  and  touch  shows  intense  thought  and  a mathematical 
exactness  of  execution  to  be  acquired  only  by  unceasing  effort. 
This  refinement  of  work,  which,  according  to  its  emphasis 
and  variety,  constitutes  the  sign-manuals  of  great  masters,  is, 
however,  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  littleness  of  the  genre 
schools,  whose  industry  and  dexterity  are  so  successful  in  giv- 
ing the  barren  imitation  of  things.  In  much  of  their  art  we 
find  correct  design,  truthful  color,  and  a fair  counterfeit  of 
externals.  But  as  compared  with  that  creative  art  which  rec- 
ognizes the  soul  in  nature,  it  is  as  dry  bones.  It  appeals  solely 
to  the  material  senses,  and  talks  only  of  vulgar  necessities  and 
familiar  uses.  The  other  is  vitalized  by  intellect  and  emotion. 
External  forms,  with  it,  are  means,  not  ends.  Hence,  it  is 
prone  to  overlook  their  importance  as  language,  trusting  over- 
much to  the  vigor,  beauty,  or  profundity  of  its  inherent  power, 
and,  in  consequence,  sometimes  fails  in  being  promptly  under- 
stood, from  lack  of  obedience  to  the  entire  code  of  artistic  law : 
just  as  great  thoughts  are  often  vague  or  unintelligible  from 
over-compactness  or  mystic  depth.  The  extremes  of  these 


SCIENCE  OF  COLOR. 


28 

qualities  of  art  become,  on  the  one  hand,  too  realistic,  and  on 
the  other,  ultra-transcendental  or  symbolical,  each  neglecting 
those  truths  that  make  the  success  of  the  other.  Thorough 
good  art  springs  from  the  joint  and  equal  operation  of  hand 
and  mind  ; noblest  art,  of  both,  inspired  by  the  profoundest 
emotions  of  the  soul.  It  is,  therefore,  the  duty  of  criticism, 
while  respecting  the  freedom  of  the  artist,  to  urge  the  neces- 
sity of  well-balanced  inspiration  and  execution.  Superficial 
observers  are  first  attracted  by  the  externals  of  art,  because 
their  faculties  have  never  been  exercised  upon  other  than  its 
relations  to  the  material  senses.  Sound  criticism  reverses  this. 
First,  it  analyzes  the  motive  ; then  the  choice ; afterwards,  the 
composition,  and  finally,  the  technical  skill,  awarding  merit 
according  to  the  predominating  goodness  of  each,  pronouncing 
the  whole  perfect,  only  when  it  fully  satisfies  the  soul’s  crav- 
ing- for  the  Beautiful. 

The  science  of  color,  both  in  its  material  adjustment  to 
beauty,  and  its  moral  meaning,  is  not  generally  understood. 
Of  itself,  color  is  neutral,  being  neither  good  nor  evil  except 
as  it  is  used.  Coloring  is,  however,  something  more  than 
surface  painting.  It  may  be  made  hideous  by  inharmonious 
combinations,  or  vicious  by  sensual  longings.  Over  the  soul 
it  has  the  power  of  music.  A painting  in  which  the  colors 
are  properly  related  to  each  other  and  their  subject,  possesses 
the  exquisite  harmony  of  a symphony  of  Mozart.  The  moral 
of  color  is  greatly  overlooked.  Few  analyze  its  symbolical 
relations  to  character,  so  well  comprehended  by  the  Oriental 
seers,  and  the  Christian  painters  of  mediaeval  Italy.  With 
many  artists,  the  feeling  for  it  is  a blind  instinct,  which  often 
leads  them  into  expression  in  hues  foreign  to  their  artistic 
aims,  though  true  to  their  own  idiosyncrasies  of  temperament. 
Character  unveils  itself  by  means  of  color  in  no  slight  degree. 
It  betrays  those  who  are  false  to  its  infinite  capacity  to  give  to 
Beauty  its  purest  significance.  By  its  use  the  soul  may  be 
edified,  or  the  senses  sensualized.  Every  sentiment  or  passion 
has  its  concomitant  hue  ; nor  are  abstract  intellectual  qualities 
without  their  significant  livery.  Criticism  should,  therefore, 


LAW  OF  HARMONY. 


29 


exact  of  color,  as  of  design,  purity,  fitness,  and  harmony. 
And  this  the  more,  that  through  its  seductions  bad  taste  and 
corrupt  morals  are  so  readily  diffused. 

The  law  of  harmony  requires  fitness  in  all  points.  Hence, 
the  material  should  be  appropriate  to  the  idea.  The  perspec- 
tive and  details  of  landscape  are  unsuited  for  sculpture.  Plu- 
mage, foliage,  and  things  ductile,  flexible,  and  ever  moving,  are 
not  to  be  evoked  from  the  solid  rock.  Strength  and  mass  are 
for  that ; lightness  is  for  wood ; transparency  for  glass  ; ease 
and  freedom  are  for  clay  or  stucco  ; and  tenacity  and  ductil- 
ity for  metals,  as  they  can  be  hammered  into  the  shapes  of 
natural  objects  with  ease.  Ghiberti  and  his  school,  forsaking 
the  purer  taste  and  classical  inspiration  of  Niccola  Pisano,  neg- 
lected this  law,  and,  notwithstanding  the  marvellous  beauty  of 
their  works,  we  cannot  but  feel  that  they  have  put  marble  and 
bronze  to  incongruous  uses  ; just  as  the  disciples  of  Michel 
Angelo  tried  to  give  to  painting  the  character  of  sculpture, 
and  as,  in  our  time,  Gibson,  misled  by  the  practice  of  antiq- 
uity, which  was  governed  by  reasons  of  climate  or  religion, 
paints  and  gilds  his  statues  to  obtain  a more  life-like  effect. 

Harmony  further  requires  of  the  artist,  beside  an  unity  of 
feeling,  thought,  and  material,  that  he  should  preserve  his  own 
proper  relation  to  his  subject.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  find 
work  permeated  with  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the  author.  But 
egotism  and  shallowness  are  synonymous  features  in  art.  The 
trick  of  feeble  minds  is  a repetition  of  self,  or  theft  from  their 
superiors.  But  that  individuality  which  stamps  genius  with 
a style,  founding  schools  of  expression,  as  in  the  great  masters, 
is  a divine  egotism,  and  wholly  apart  from  the  pettiness  of  the 
former. 

A harmonious  relation  of  accessories  to  principals  is  highly 
important.  No  cleverness  in  details  can  absolve  inattention  in 
this  respect.  The  miscalled  Preraphaelites  of  our  time,  exag- 
gerating the  law  of  fidelity  in  parts,  and  losing  sight  of  the 
broader  principle  of  effect  by  which  particulars  are  absorbed 
into  large  masses,  protrude  upon  the  sight  with  microscopic 
clearness  the  near  and  the  distant,  delineating;  the  tiniest 

1 o 


30 


RELATIVE  IMPORTANCE  OF  TOPICS. 


flower  in  a wide  landscape,  of  which,  in  nature,  it  would 
form,  at  their  point  of  sight,  but  an  uncertain  speck  of  color, 
with  the  minuteness  of  an  isolated  object  close  at  hand.  With 
them,  pebbles  and  petals  are  made  of  equal  importance  with 
the  human  countenance,  and  the  texture  of  garments  with  the 
play  of  features.  Consequently,  while  conscientiously  labori- 
ous on  the  lesser  truths  and  values  of  nature,  they  exalt  them 
so  high  in  artistic  manipulation  and  relative  position,  that  they 
have  no  commensurate  force  reserved  for  more  important  facts. 
All  things  being  equally  indicated,  foregrounds  and  back- 
grounds and  middle  distance  alike  distinct  and  defined,  the 
spectator  is  as  likely  to  find  himself  admiring  the  clever  imita- 
tion of  a cobweb,  as  taken  with  the  proper  motive  of  the 
composition. 

The  relative  importance  of  the  various  branches  of  art  is 
founded  upon  the  scale  of  nature  in  her  gradations  from  lower 
to  higher  organizations.  Hence,  whatever  belongs  to  animal 
wants  or  vulgar  passions,  to  things  in  relation  solely  to  their 
material  uses  and  pleasures,  like  the  prevalent  tone  of  Dutch 
and  Flemish  art,  is  of  the  lowest  order. 

Higher  in  character  ranks  the  landscape,  and  whatever  the 
natural  world  exhibits  of  the  love  and  wisdom  of  its  Creator, 
and  which  may  be  portrayed  from  a sympathetic  motive. 
There  exists  a correspondence  between  all  matter  and  the 
divine  principle  whence  it  derives  being.  Hence,  art  has  its 
choice  of  two  views  of  its  subject,  viz.,  that  which  belongs  to 
its  uses,  or  external  life,  and  that  which,  by  spirit,  connects  it 
with  the  origin  and  ultimate  purpose  of  its  creation.  An 
artist  can  therefore  treat  the  landscape  from  either  aspect, 
making  his  work  high  or  common,  according  to  its  motive 
and  execution. 

Humanity  is  a still  loftier  topic  of  art.  Whatever  relates 
to  man,  in  a social,  historical,  or  religious  aspect,  belongs  to 
high-art,  inasmuch  as  man  is  the  latest  and  loftiest  development 
on  earth  of  the  Creator.  This  includes  portraiture  in  its  true 
significance,  the  rendering  of  the  soul  rather  than  the  house  it 
temporarily  dwells  in. 


BEAUTY. 


31 


Above  all,  though  rarely  shown,  and  only  in  a finite  degree, 
is  the  creative  faculty,  born  of  the  imagination,  and  conceiving 
forms  and  expressions  varying  so  widely  from  the  known  and 
visible  that  we  term  them  supernatural,  although,  rightly  con- 
sidered, like  the  poet’s  inspiration  and  the  prophet’s  revelation, 
they  are  the  result  of  a power  of  vision  not  bestowed  upon 
common  sight. 

Beauty,  in  a generic  sense,  is  the  result  of  a harmonious 
and  subtle  correspondence  between  motive  and  execution  in 
art,  suggestive  of  perfection.  The  primary  attractiveness  of 
color  lies  in  its  nice  gradation,  its  hues  melting  into  mystery 
and  infinity,  and  bearing  the  same  relation  to  it  that  curvature 
does  to  form.  But  beauty  of  the  spirit  requires  a pure  and 
lofty  inspiration  — right  means  to  noble  ends.  The  classical 
idea  was  based  upon  the  sensuous  and  material.  It  sought 
that  form  of  development  which  best  enabled  men  to  appreciate 
the  deli  edits  of  the  external  senses  through  a strong  and  elegant 
organization.  The  principle  was  correct,  but  it  did  not  go  far 
enough.  It  made  earth  and  its  enjoyments  the  ultimate  of  its 
aspirations.  Christianity,  in  its  protest  against  the  sensual  re- 
sults of  a law  based  upon  so  inferior  a view  of  the  soul,  went  to  the 
opposite  extreme,  and  sought  its  ultimate  good  through  asceti- 
cism, which  being  equally  founded  on  a false  view  of  life,  soon 
declined  into  artifice  and  ugliness.  The  truly  beautiful  is  to 
be  found  in  the  aesthetic  principle  of  Greek  art,  love  of  beauty 
for  its  own  sake,  vitalized  by  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  which,  by 
implanting  a moral  significance  and  the  seed  of  faith  in  all 
that  rejoices  the  pure  of  heart,  raises  the  feeling  for  the 
beautiful  out  of  the  mire  of  sense,  and  endows  it  with  the 
loveliness  of  spirituality. 

Let  us  briefly  recapitulate  the  law  of  criticism. 

First,  Art,  in  Degree,  is  high  or  common,  according  to 
its  subject,  ascending  from  genre , decoration  and  illustration 
to  the  superior  field  of  landscape ; thence  to  portraiture, 
historical  composition,  and  religious  instruction,  its  loftiest 
range  being  the  purely  imaginative. 

Secondly,  in  Quality,  which  is  its  minor  excellence,  and 


32 


THE  TRUE  MAGIC  OF  ART. 


rests  upon  naturalness,  or  correctness  of  design,  truth  of  color, 
and  harmony  of  composition ; in  short,  on  all  that  depends 
upon  direct  imitation  of  external  nature. 

Popular  criticism  seldom  cares  to  penetrate  beyond  the 
range  of  eyesight.  But  the  true  magic  of  art  lies  in  those 
intellectual  elements  which  are  born  properly  of  the  spirit. 
An  insight  into  them,  prompted  by  kindred  feeling,  and 
guided  by  a cultivated  judgment,  is  the  highest  province  of 
genius,  and  the  severest  test  of  art. 


AUTHENTICITY. 


88 


PART  III. 


Authenticity,  its  Nature  and  Importance.  Two  Methods  of  Investigation.  What 
is  requisite  for  Nice  Judgment.  Pitfalls  of  Amateurs  in  Europe.  Artifices, 
Trickery,  and  Fraud  in  Picture-dealing.  Anecdotes  of  Prizes,  Prices,  and  Col- 
lectors. Documentary^  Evidence.  Fabrication,  Falsification,  and  Repetitions 
of  Originals.  Uncertainty  in  regard  to  Early  Masters.  Fresco  Painting.  Dif- 
ficulties of  Collectors.  Italian  Legislation  and  Prohibitions.  Revived  Taste  for 
Early  Art.  Restoration.  Character  of  Local  Criticism.  Old  Masters  in  Amer- 
ica. Right  Feeling  for  Art. 

There  is  another  branch  of  Criticism,  beside  that  which 
may  be  said  to  relate  to  the  character  of  art.  It  inquires  into 
the  origin,  epoch,  schools,  and  genealogy ; and  may  be  consid- 
ered under  the  general  term,  Authenticity. 

Not  even  with  coin  has  forgery  been  more  prolific  and 
audacious  than  with  art  in  general,  the  supply  of  imitable 
objects  being  always  kept  upon  a level  with  the  giratory 
demand  of  fashion.  Hence,  the  authenticity  of  works  of  art 
becomes  of  primary  consideration,  and  the  mode  of  investiga- 
tion, and  means  by  which  they  are  tested,  a special  study. 

This  sort  of  criticism  subdivides  into  two  varieties  : viz.,  the 
technical  method,  and  that  which  is  founded  upon  a keen  sym- 
pathy and  appreciation  of  the  motives  and  character  of  an 
artist.  The  former  relies  upon  external  evidence.  It  takes 
cognizance  of  material  and  manner,  beginning,  in  painting, 
with  the  quality  of  the  substance  on  which  it  rests,  and  pro- 
ceeding to  the  preparations  and  uses  of  colors,  peculiarities  of 
design  and  manipulation  ; in  fine,  to  those  emphatic  points  of 
strength  or  weakness  which  form  the  sign-manual  of  artists, 
and  disclose  the  difference  between  master,  pupil,  and  imitator, 
and  also  between  schools.  For  this  investigation,  a knowledge 
also  of  the  chemical  properties  of  the  vehicles  and  varnishes 
used ; of  colors,  and  the  methods  of  employing  them  ; the 
scientific  artifices  of  the  profession,  as  well  as  chronological 
3 


34* 


ANTIQUARIAN  ISM  OF  ART. 


information  of  the  diversities  of  manner,  idea,  and  materials. 
So  extended  a field,  covering,  in  time,  decades  of  centuries, 
and  in  external  expression,  a variety  analogous  to  the  kaleido- 
scopic mutations  of  intellect  itself,  in  its  continuous  self-devel- 
opment, necessitates  diligent  and  conscientious  inquiry,  and 
long  experience,  before  sound  opinions  can  be  given.  Even 
the  antiquarianism  of  art  must  he  studied.  Characteristics 
apparently  trivial  and  minute,  often  have  an  important  hearing 
on  doubtful  points.  The  very  worms  which  have  preyed, 
ghoul-like,  upon  glorious  art,  become  unchallengeable  wit- 
nesses. Shreds  of  canvas,  grains  of  wood,  and  qualities  of 
plaster  grounds,  are  not  to  be  wantonly  set  aside.  Every 
print  of  the  tooth  of  time,  and  every  peculiarity  of  the  handi- 
craft of  man,  each  and  all  are  to  be  closely  scrutinized.  The 
sands  of  age  are  to  he  nicely  sifted  for  their  hidden  gold. 
Chemistry  must  he  invoked  to  analyze  and  recombine.  In 
short,  criticism  after  this  kind,  honestly  pursued,  is  an  elab- 
orate, cautious  study. 

Too  rigidly  followed,  however,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  latter 
and  more  subtle  method,  it  is  apt  to  defeat  its  own  end  by 
inducing  over-reliance  upon  what  are  often  accidents,  rather 
than  essentials.  Many  artists,  and  to  some  extent,  schools, 
from  intimate  connection  and  common  experience,  so  practise 
each  other’s  methods,  that  were  a decision  to  be  limited  to  vehi- 
cles and  styles,  there  would  be,  not  unseldom,  a confounding 
of  names.  Therefore,  to  a knowledge  of  conducting  technical 
investigation,  it  is  essential  to  join  the  mysterious  test  of  feel- 
ing ; that  which  takes  cognizance  of  the  sentiment  of  an 
artist,  his  absolute  individuality,  by  which  he  is  himself , and 
none  other  ; that  which  cannot  be  exchanged  or  imitated ; the 
soul-power  which  defies  alike  his  cleverest  pupil  and  most 
unscrupulous  imitator.  To  attain  this  quality  of  judgment, 
the  critic  must  have  an  affinity  for  the  motives  and  under- 
standing of  the  artist  as  sensitive  as  the  wire  to  the  electrical 
current.  Primarily,  this  nice  discrimination  is  instinctive  — 
felt  and  acted  upon  before  the  cautious  questionings  of  reason 
are  heard.  Analyze  it,  however,  and  we  find  it  as  positive  in 


TECHNICAL  INQUIRY. 


85 


operation,  and  as  obedient  to  law,  as  the  action  of  acid  on 
metal.  Far  from  being  a blind  impulse,  or  a vagary  of  un- 
ordered taste,  it  is  a guide  to  truth,  a delicate  chord  which, 
fastening  itself  upon  the  surface  of  things,  penetrates  their 
interiors,  and  illumines  them  with  the  light  of  sympathetic 
understanding.  Those  who  are  obtuse  to  this  faculty  of  test- 
ing character,  are  wont  to  deride  it  as  sheer  infatuation.  Nev- 
ertheless, as  a special  gift,  it  does  exist,  at  times  disturbed  by 
physical  causes,  often  dormant,  but  when  aroused,  as  reliable 
as  pleasurable,  and  always  suggestive  of  those  surer  and 
quicker  means  of  knowledge  which  await  the  spiritualized 
existence  of  those  who  have  diligently  improved  the  talents 
committed  to  their  charge  in  this. 

Once,  therefore,  having  recognized  the  artist  through  the 
general  thought  or  feeling  of  his  work,  we  are  led  on  to  hold 
converse  with  him  by  the  outward  manifestations  of  his  mind, 
which  become  a language  of  symbols,  expressive  of  the  indi- 
vidual. Tones  of  color,  styles  of  ornamentation,  treatment  of 
accessories,  grace  or  vigor  of  design,  the  character  of  composi- 
tion and  motives,  all  contribute  to  the  identification  of  the 
true,  and  the  disclosure  of  the  false  objects.  These  principles 
of  inquiry  are  applicable  to  all  epochs,  but  in  the  great  vari- 
ety of  shapes  that  art  has  assumed  in  three  thousand  years, 
it  is  scarcely  possible  for  any  one,  however  conscientious  and 
diligent,  to  become  a universal  adept.  The  most,  therefore, 
that  the  public  should  exact  of  a critic,  is  sound  judgment  on 
some  special  field  of  art,  cautious  also  not  to  accept  too  implic- 
itly the  decisions  of  dogmatically  enunciated  criticism,  which 
is  very  often  but  a dust  of  words  raised  to  conceal  either  real 
ignorance  or  charlatan  pretence. 

As  the  taste  for  collecting  objects  of  art  is  rapidly  develop- 
ing in  America,  it  may  be  not  without  profit  to  point  out  some 
of  the  pitfalls  which  attend  the  amateur  in  their  pursuit,  espe- 
cially in  Italy,  that  exhaustless  quarry  of  “ originals,”  and  “ old 
masters.”  Though  it  should  be  remembered  that  a work  of 
art  may  be  both  original  and  old,  and  very  bad,  too ; its  intrin- 
sic worth  being  a distinct  question  from  its  age  and  authen- 


86 


FRAUDS  IN  ART. 


ticity.  The  results  given  are  drawn  from  an  actual  experience 
of  many  years. 

The  most  obvious  risk  is  from  the  counterfeiter.  Not  from 
the  vulgar  shams  distributed  so  widely  over  the  world  from  the 
well-known  manufactories  of  paintings  in  France,  England, 
and  other  parts,  and  which  can  deceive  only  the  most  igno- 
rant or  credulous,  but  from  talent  itself  debased  to  forgery  and 
trickery. 

Many  of  the  antique  bronzes,  terra-cottas,  vases,  classical 
and  mediaeval  relics,  so  jealously  cared  for  in  the  collections  of 
Europe,  are  the  clever  imitations  of 'a  poor  and  honest  artist 
in  one  of  the  Italian  cities,  whose  miniature  studio  might 
almost  be  put  inside  of  one  of  our  old-fashioned  omnibuses. 
His  designs,  taken  from  genuine  antiques,  are  reproduced  with 
fidelity,  and  the  coatings  and  marks  of  time  counterfeited  by 
chemical  processes  and  skilful  manipulation.  He  sells  his 
productions  as  imitations,  at  prices  that  barely  provide  him 
with  daily  bread,  eking  out  a subsistence,  by  repairs  and  resto- 
rations, in  which  he  is  equally  happy.  Living  in  obscurity, 
without  the  capital  or  sagacity  to  make  himself  known  to  the 
public,  he  is  at  the  mercy  of  those  who  are  interested  in  keep- 
ing him  in  privacy,  and  buying  his  artistic  labors  at  the  wages 
of  a clod-hopper.  His  own  responsibility  goes  not  beyond 
fulfilling  orders  for  the  imitation  of  certain  objects,  the  process 
of  which  he  frankly  explains  to  an  inquisitive  visitor.  But 
once  in  dishonest  % hands,  antiquity  and  authenticity  replace 
modernism  and  imitation.  Falsehood  and  forgery  now  begin. 
There  are  two  ways  of  seduction  and  deceit.  The  one,  and 
safer  for  the  operator,  is  the  suggestive , in  which  appearances 
are  made,  by  consummate  tact  and  artful  flattery,  so  to  excite 
the  imagination  of  the  buyer,  that  he  is  led  to  believe  what  he 
desires  without  compromising  the  agent.  The  other  is  positive 
intrigue  and  absolute  lying,  so  nicely  done  that  the  wealthy 
amateur  is  fleeced  after  a fashion  that  confers  pleasure,  and 
which,  though  lie  may  subsequently  detect,  gives  him  but  a 
lame  chance  at  redress.  In  most  instances  he  deserves  none. 
For,  stimulated  by  vanity  or  fashion,  without  any  true  regard 


PICTURE-JOCKEYING. 


37 


for  art,  he  has  offered  so  great  a premium  for  a name,  that  it 
would  indeed  be  wonderful  if  a corresponding  supply  was  not 
created.  Hence  the  apparent  prolificness  of  certain  names  in 
art.  The  living  artist  is  sometimes  sorely  tempted  to  pander  to 
illusions,  to  secure  that  appreciation  which  the  world  gives  more 
lavishly  to  fashion  than  merit.  Michel  Angelo  tested  this  dispo- 
sition, more  current,  even,  at  his  time  than  now ; though  some 
say  it  was  done  without  his  knowledge.  At  all  events,  having 
finished  a statue  of  a Sleeping  Cupid,  after  breaking  off  an  arm, 
it  was  buried,  and,  in  due  time,  discovered,  disinterred,  and 
brought  to  the  notice  of  a distinguished  Roman  dignitary,  who 
pronounced  it  to  be  a gem  of  the  antique.  He  bought  it  for  a 
large  price,  well  satisfied  with  his  prize,  as  he  had  honest  rea- 
son to  be.  But  afterwards,  the  deception  being  exposed,  and 
the  proof  given  by  means  of  the  missing  limb,  that  it  was 
the  work  of  the  then  almost  unknown  Florentine  sculptor, 
the  disenchanted  connoisseur  was  furiously  indignant,  and  dis- 
posed to  take  prompt  vengeance  upon  the  parties  concerned. 

To  come  back  to  our  own  day.  Let  us  suppose  a rich  col- 
lector to  have  arrived  at  some  well-known  Italian  locality, — 
picture-jockeying  is  much  the  same  everywhere,  — in  pursuit 
of  u originals. ” Great  is  the  commotion  among  dealers,  and 
their  “ sensali ,”  or  jackals.  These  latter  are  versed  in  intrigue 
and  mystification,  with  enough  intelligence  to  tell  a good  pic- 
ture from  a bad,  and  a parrot-like  acquaintance  of  names  and 
schools.  They  are  of  all  classes,  from  the  decayed  gentleman 
and  artist,  to  shop-keepers,  cobblers,  cooks,  and  tailors,  who 
find,  in  the  large  commissions  gained,  a temptation  to  forsake 
their  petty,  legitimate  callings  for  the  lottery-like  excitements 
and  finesse  of  picture-dealing.  No  sooner  has  the  stranger 
gone  to  his  hotel,  than  a watch  is  put  upon  his  movements, 
and  bribery  and  cajolery  used  to  get  access  to  him.  It  is 
the  sensale's  business  to  discover  and  offer  pictures.  He  is 
supposed  to  know  the  locality  of  every  one,  good  or  bad,  in 
his  neighborhood.  However  jealous  of  each  other,  all  are 
loyally  pledged  together  to  take  in  the  stranger.  Leagued 
with  the  dealer,  artist,  owner,  courier,  or  servant,  with  every 


38 


THE  AMATEUR^  DIFFICULTIES. 


one,  in  fact,  that  by  any  possibility,  can  stand  between  the 
buyer  and  his  object,  it  has  become  almost  an  impossibility, 
especially  for  transient  visitors,  to  purchase  anything  whatever 
without  paying  a heavy  toll  to  intermediates.  When  the  con- 
spiracy is  extended  widely,  the  augmentation  of  price  above 
what  would  be  required  in  direct  dealing  with  the  owner,  is 
sometimes  double,  or  even  quadruple.  Occasionally,  however, 
by  way  of  compensation  for  their  general  evil,  the  “ sensali  ” 
having  scented  a prize,  offer  it  first  to  the  amateur,  in  view  of 
their  own  increase  of  gain  over  what  the  dealer  would  allow. 
In  this  way,  good  pictures  not  unfrequently  escape  the  mer- 
chant, and  reach  the  collector  at  a lower  price  than  if  they  had 
gone  directly  to  the  former. 

The  sensali  are  not  without  their  use  in  another  respect. 
So  indirect  and  underhanded  is  the  Italian  mode  of  dealing;  in 
these  matters,  and  so  eccentric  their  ideas  as  to  value,  that  a 
foreigner  is  apt  to  be  speedily  disgusted,  or  driven  away  by 
the  magnitude  of  demands  which,  in  reality,  the  seller  never 
expects,  even  in  a remote  degree,  to  realize.  Hence,  the  nego- 
tiation is  best  done  through  an  agent,  the  buyer  having  fixed 
upon  Ms  price,  leaving  the  sensale  to  make  what  he  can  for 
himself.  No  purchaser,  however,  should  give  heed  to  any 
statement  about  the  history  or  authenticity  of  the  works  of- 
fered to  him  through  such  sources,  but  rely,  both  for  value  and 
facts,  upon  his  own  resources ; otherwise,  he  will  be  deceived 
to  an  extent  that  would  almost  appear  fabulous  to  the  inex- 
perienced. 

Such  are  the  preliminary  difficulties  that  beset  the  amateur. 
We  will  suppose  him  in  connection  with  the  sellers  and  trace 
his  progress.  First,  the  quality  of  his  judgment  and  the 
impressibility  of  his  imagination,  are  tested  by  a series  of  exper- 
iments as  delicate  as  the  atmospherical  gauges  of  a barometer. 
II  e is,  of  course,  not  to  be  entrapped  by  copies  and  fabrications. 
He  has  a shrewd  misgiving  of  dealers,  and  therefore  prefers  to 
buy  family  pictures,  or  originals  direct  from  chapels  and  con- 
vents. All  Italians  have  a patriotic  pride  in  getting  rid  of 
trash  at  the  expense  of  the  foreigner.  The  more  common 


MODES  OF  DECEPTION, 


39 


baits  to  entrap,  by  bringing  pictures  mysteriously  boxed, 
grandly  baptized,  and  liberally  decorated  witli  aristocratic 
seals,  and  eloquent  with  academical  certificates,  anointed  with 
refined  flattery  and  obsequious  courtesy,  having  failed,  his 
“ Excellenza  ” being;  too  knowing;  to  be  seduced  into  buying; 
the  ostentatiously  furbished  up  “ roba  ” of  shops,  they  set 
about  to  accommodate  him  with  originals  from  first  hands. 
By  substituting  old  frames  for  new,  dirtying  the  pictures, 
and  other  ingenious  processes,  familiar  to  the  initiated,  and 
finally  putting  them  out  to  board  in  noble  villas,  antique  pal- 
aces, or  other  localities  the  most  natural  for  good  pictures  to  be 
discovered  in,  spiced  with  a tale  of  decayed  family  grandeur, 
other  agents  substituted  and  hints  sagaciously  conveyed  to  the 
buyer,  his  curiosity  is  excited,  hopes  raised,  and  finally,  with 
much  trouble  and  enhanced  expense,  he  triumphantly  carries 
off  the  very  pictures  which,  in  a shop,  he  could  not  be  tempted 
to  look  at  for  fear  of  being  caught  with  chaff,  but  which  now, 
from  a well-acted  romance,  have  acquired  a peculiar  value 
in  his  eyes.  Not  that  this  sort  of  delicate  mystification  is 
reserved  exclusively  for  foreigners,  for  we  have  detected,  in 
an  altar-piece  borne  away,  as  a great  prize,  by  an  Italian  friend, 
from  a secluded  little  chapel,  attached  to  a noble  villa  in  the 
vicinity  of  Florence,  a worthless  specimen  of  an  old  painter, 
from  one  of  the  several  depositories  of  the  city,  which  had 
long  been  unsalable  on  any  terms. 

Honest  dealing  exists.in  Italy,  as  elsewhere,  and  there  are 
men  whose  statements  may  be  safely  received..  But  let  the 
purchaser  be  cautious  when  led  into  out-of-the-way  places  to 
see  newly-found  originals,  and  be  slow  to  give  ear  to  stories  of 
churches  being  permitted  to  sell  this  or  that  work  of  art  because 
they  have  a facade  to  repair  or  an  altar  to  decorate  ; and  par- 
ticularly, if  there  be  anything  said  of  an  inheritance  to  divide, 
or  a sad  tale  of  family  distress,  requiring  the  sacrifice  of  long- 
cherished  treasures,  backed  by  a well-gotten  up  pantomime  of 
unlockings  and  lockings,  passages  through  mysterious  corridors 
and  vast  halls,  and  cautious  showings  amid  a crowd  of  family 
-retainers,  or  a retinue  of  monks.  Sometimes  the  most  wary  is 


40 


PRIZES  AND  PRICES. 


thus  seduced  into  offering  tenfold  its  worth  for  a common 
object,  thus  seen  by  a carefully  arranged  light,  and  artificial 
surroundings. 

Many  good  pictures  are  still  to  be  had  in  Italy,  if  properly 
approached  by  those  who  know  thoroughly  the  habits  of  the 
country.  There  are,  however,  but  two  means  of  procuring 
them : either  to  pay  their  full  value,  as  fixed  by  rival  collectors, 
or  to  secure  them,  by  fortuitous  circumstances,  for  trifling 
sums.  The  extraordinary  chances  of  discovery,  and  extreme 
variations  of  prices  attending  this  pursuit,  are  curious  and  in- 
structive. A few  examples  are  worth  relating. 

In  1856,  a small  picture,  by  Niccolo  d’Alunno,  was  sold  in 
Florence  by  an  artist  to  a dealer,  for  forty  dollars  ; in  a few 
weeks  resold  to  an  Englishman  for  five  hundred  dollars  ; ex- 
hibited at  the  Manchester  Exhibition,  whence  it  subsequently 
passed  into  the  gallery  of  a distinguished  personage,  for  two 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars.  The  “ Leda  ” of  Leonardo, 
repainted,  from  motives  of  prudery,  by  the  great-grandfather 
of  Louis  Philippe,  was  bought,  at  the  sale  of  that  ex-king’s 
pictures,  in  Paris  in  1849,  for  thirty  dollars  — restored  to  its 
primitive  condition,  and  sold,  as  we  are  informed,  for  one  hun- 
dred thousand  francs.  Ten  years  ago,  “ an  angel,”  by  the 
same  artist,  was  found  in  the  old-clothes  market,  at  Florence, 
by  an  artist,  bought  for  a few  pence,  cleaned,  and  sold  to 
Prince  Galitzin  for  twenty-two  thousand  francs.  The  “ For- 
tune ” of  Michel  Angelo,  or  what  was  supposed  to  be,  not 
long  since  was  discovered  in  the  same  locality,  in  a disastrous 
condition,  secured  for  three  shillings,  put  in  such  order  as  was 
possible,  and  parted  with  to  a gentleman  of  Paris  for  three 
hundred  dollars,  and  a pension  of  one  dollar  per  day  during 
the  lives  of  the  seller  and  his  son.  Quite  recently,  one  of  Cor- 
regmo’s  most  beautiful  works  was  discovered  under  the  canvas 
of  a worthless  picture,  acquired  at  public  auction,  at  Rome, 
for  a few  dimes,  at. the  sale  by  a princely  family,  of  discarded 
pictures,  and  resold  by  the  fortunate  discoverer  for  fifteen 
thousand  dollars,  although  the  original  proprietor  instituted  a 
suit  against  him  for  its  recovery,  which  however  was  decided 


PRIZES  AND  PRICES. 


41 


against  the  claim.  In  Florence,  within  three  years  past,  a fine 
portrait  by  Titian,  of  the  Doge  Andrea  Gritti,  was  picked  out 
from  a large  lot  of  worthless  canvases,  for  six  dollars.  The 
u Madonna  del  Gran  Duco,”  at  the  Pitti,  was  bought,  by  the 
father  of  the  late  Grand  Duke,  witli  two  other  pictures,  of  a 
widow,  for  a few  dollars.  Instances  like  these  might  be  mul- 
tiplied to  show  that,  in  all  times,  “ prizes  ” do  strangely  and 
unexpectedly  occur,  and  that  pictures,  in  their  fortunes,  re- 
semble their  authors,  often  passing  from  extreme  poverty 
into  princely  homes. 

The  varied  pecuniary  estimation  placed  upon  the  same 
works  in  different  epochs,  is  also  curious.  Indeed,  a history 
of  the  caprices  of  art  would  be  vastly  entertaining.  In  1T40, 
at  the  sale,  in  Paris,  of  M.  Crozet’s  collection,  a drawing  by 
Raphael  brought  only  ten  francs.  The  same  drawing,  at  the 
sale  of  the  King  of  Holland’s  gallery,  in  1850,  fetched  fourteen 
thousand  francs.  For  the  “ Ezekiel,”  Raphael,  in  1510,  re- 
ceived eight  scudi  dHoro , equivalent  now  to  thirty  dollars.  At 
present,  if  sold,  it  would  bring  a fabulous  sum.  Within  the 
memory  of  those  now  living,  gold  background  pictures,  of  the 
schools  of  Giotto  and  his  successors,  owing  to  the  contempt 
the  pseudo-classical  French  taste  had  excited  for  them,  were 
brought  out  of  suppressed  churches  and  convents,  and  pub- 
licly burned  to  -obtain  the  trifling  value  of  gold  which  re- 
mained in  the  ashes.  Amateurs  are  now  more  inclined  to  pay 
their  wei  ght  in  gold  for  the  few  that  have  escaped  the  ravages 
of  time  and  Vandalism,  and  the  same  government  which  per- 
mitted this  destruction,  in  1859,  sequestering  all  in  public 
buildings  as  national  property,  passed  stringent  decrees  to  pro- 
hibit their  leaving  the  country. 

But  without  cautious  study  and  much  well-paid-for  expe- 
‘ rience,  the  stranger  has  small  chance  in  successfully  coping 
with  the  artifices  that  beset  his  every  step.  He  must  not  only 
be  well  grounded  in  the  history  of  Italian  painting,  but 
possess  a practical  knowledge  of  the  execution  of  its  various 
masters.  Haste  and  ignorance,  united  to  wealth  and  vanity, 
are  a rich  mine  for  the  “ sensali.”  To  such  collectors — not 


42 


SELF-DELUSION. 


to  speak  of  Europe  — America  owes  many  of  its  galleries  of 
great  names,  to  tlie  very  natural  astonishment  and  scepticism 
of  the  spectators,  and  the  defamation  of  great  reputations. 
Many  of  these  purchases  are  the  speculations  of  couriers,  who, 
having  artfully  innoculated  their  employers  with  a taste  for 
originals,  take  care  to  supply  the  demand,  greatly  to  the  bene- 
fit of  their  own  pockets,  and  the  gratitude  of  those  with  whom 
they  bring  their  masters  in  connection.  We  have  been  called, 
by  a countryman,  to  admire  his  gallery  of  Claudes,  Poussins, 
Rembrandts,  Murillos,  and  Titians,  for  which  he  had  ex- 
pended a princely  sum,  but  which  there  was  no  difficulty,  to 
one  initiated,  in  recognizing  as  the  sort  of  “ roba,”  got  up 
expressly  to  entrap  the  unwary.  One  picture,  worth,  perhaps, 
for  mere  decoration,  fifty  dollars,  had  been  secured  with  great 
joy  by  the  buyer,  and  seeming  reluctance  of  the  seller,  at  the 
reduced  price  of  two  thousand  two  hundred  dollars,  that  first 
asked  being  three  thousand.  Another,  by  a feeble  artist  of 
the  Carlo  Dolce  school,  had  been  converted,  by  a substitu- 
tion of  names,  and  sundry  touchings  up  into  a brilliant  Guer- 
cino,  at  the  cost  of  nearly  one  thousand  dollars,  of  which  the 
owner  got  about  one  third,  the  confederates  pocketing  the  rest. 

Some  amateurs  deceive  themselves  after  a manner  which 
acquits  the  dealer  of  any  participation  in  their  illusions.  A 
gentleman  entered  a well-known  studio  at  Florence,  not  many 
years  back,  and  inquired  the  price  of  a picture.  The  reply 
was  sixty  dollars,  and  that  it  was  by  Furini.  “I  will  take 
it,”  the  gentleman  said,  and  eagerly  insisted  upon  paying  for 
it  on  the  spot,  which  no  sooner  done,  he  turned  round  to  the 
amused  artist,  and  triumphantly  exclaimed,  “ do  you  know 
you  have  sold  me  a Murillo  for  nothing 

Benvenuto,  President  of  the  Academy  of  Florence,  was 
once  asked  to  attest  the  originality  of  an  Andrea,  brought  to 
him  by  some  speculators.  “ I should  be  gratified  to  oblige 
you,  gentlemen,”  he  replied,  u but  unfortunately,  I saw  the 
picture  painted.”  Nevertheless,  certificates  were  obtained 
from  more  facile  authorities,  and  the  picture  officially  baptized 
for  a market. 


COUNTERFEITS  OF  OLD  MASTERS. 


4 8 


Certificates  and  documents  need  to  be  received  as  cautiously 
as  the  pictures  themselves  ; perhaps  more  so,  for  they  are 
more  easily  forged.  When  genuine,  the  former  are  valuable 
only  as  they  are  the  opinions  of  honest  and  competent  judges  : 
both  trustworthy  only  so  far  as  they  are  attached  to  the  pic- 
tures to  which  they  legitimately  belong.  Genuine  pictures 
have  been  sold  and  their  documentary  testimony  kept  for 
skilful  imitations.  We  have  even  detected  in  certificates, 
the  fraudulent  substitution  of  names.  And  sometimes,  when 
honestly  given,  their  testimony  is  of  no  value.  One  pro- 
fessional certificate  of  the  last  century,  in  our  possession, 
ascribes  the  portrait  in  question  either  to  Masaccio,  or  Santo 
di  Titi ; as  sensible  a decision  as  if  an  English  critic  had  decided 
that  a certain  picture  of  his  school  was  either  by  Hogarth,  or 
Sir  Thomas  Lawrence.  Cases  are  indeed  rare,  even  in  the 
public  galleries,  in  which,  outside  of  the  picture  itself,  there 
is  any  trustworthy  testimony  as  to  its  genealogy. 

Counterfeits  of  old  masters  of  the  later  Italian  schools,  sup- 
ported by  false  evidence,  have,  at  various  times,  deceived  good 
judges,  and  obtained  posts  of  honor  in  the  galleries  of  Europe. 
Even  when  detected,  their  owners  do  not  always  repudiate 
their  spurious  treasures,  but  give  their  collections  the  benefit  of 
doubts  or  public  ignorance.  The  most  noted  imitator  of  this 
class  was  Micheli,  of  Florence.  In  view  of  his  success,  and 
the  use,  for  a time,  made  of  his  works,  he  must  be  consid- 
ered as  a forger,  though  now  they  are  in  esteem  solely  for 
their  intrinsic  cleverness.  Some  still  linger  in  remote  galleries 
with  the  savor  of  authenticity  about  them.  A Raphael  of  his 
make  long  graced  the  Imperial  Gallery  of  Russia.  He  did  not 
confine  himself  to  literal  repetitions,  but  concocted  new  “ orig- 
inals,” by  combining  parts  of  various  pictures,  on  worm-eaten 
panels  or  time-stained  canvases,  with  such  varieties  of  mo- 
tive or  design  as  their  supposed  authors  would  naturally  have 
made  in  repeating  their  ideas  in  fresher  combinations  ; some- 
times leaving  portions  unfinished,  ingeniously  dirtying  their 
surfaces,  and  giving  them  that  cracked  porcelain  appearance 
common  to  the  old  masters.  One  thus  prepared  was  bought, 


44 


ALTERATIONS  OF  OLD  PICTURES. 


at  his  studio,  for  one  hundred  dollars ; consigned  to  a priest  in 
the  country  ; in  due  time  discovered ; and  the  rumor  of  a great 
master,  in  an  exceedingly  dirty  and  somewhat  dilapidated  state, 
but  believed  to  be  intact  beneath  the  varnishes  and  grime  of 
centuries,  brought  to  the  ears  of  a Russian,  who,  after  a deli- 
cate and  wearisome  negotiation,  obtained  it  for  eight  hundred 
dollars,  and  perhaps  paid  a few  hundred  more  to  the  manu- 
facturer for  cleaning  and  restoring  it. 

Another  sort  of  deception  is  the  alteration  of  pictures  by 
less  known  artists,  of  an  inferior  reputation,  into  more  fashion- 
able and  profitable  ones.  In  this  manner,  many  works  of 
artists,  of  much  local  interest,  and  often,  indeed,  of  equal 
merit  to  those  they  are  made  to  represent,  are  exterminated, 
to  serious  loss  in  the  history  of  art.  Lombardy,  Umbria,  and 
the  Legations,  especially,  have  suffered  in  this  respect. 

Though  no  deception  be  intended,  if  pedigrees  are  lost, 
criticism  is  often  sorely  perplexed  to  decide  upon  authorship. 
Out  of  the  multitudes  of  pictures  in  the  European  galleries, 
which  are  so  decisively  baptized  in  catalogues,  the  public 
would  be  surprised  to  learn  how  few,  comparatively,  can  he 
historically  traced  to  their  authors.  The  majority  are  named 
upon  the  authority  of  local  judges,  whose  acquaintance  with 
art  may  be  limited  to  one  specialty,  or  who  rely  upon  such 
opinions  as  can  be  gathered  from  the  best  available  sources. 
Hence  the  frequent  changes  in  the  nomenclatures.  We  can- 
not, therefore,  accept  such  documents  as  infallible,  except  in 
those  cases  whose  internal  evidence  and  historic  record  are 
alike  unimpeachable. 

The  difficulty  of  deciding  often  arises  from  repetitions,  and 
the  excellencies  of  pupils  painting  from  the  designs  of  their 
masters,  and  not  unfrequently  assisted  by  them.  As  we  go 
back  in  art,  this  difficulty  increases,  from  the  oblivion  which 
has  overtaken  once  well-known  names,  and  from  the  greater 
uniformity  of  processes  and  more  limited  range  of  motives 
of  the  earliest  artists. 

The  great  religious  masters  of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth 
centuries  gathered  about  them  crowds  of  scholars,  who  trav- 


FRESCO  PAINTING. 


45 


elled  with  them  from  city  to  city,  partaking  in  their  commis- 
sions, and  executing  their  designs,  especially  of  ex  voto  pic- 
tures, multiplied,  in  that  age,  by  the  piety  of  noble  families,  to 
commemorate  some  particular  interposition  of  divine  power  in 
their  behalf,  and  to  honor  their  patron  saint.  Their  usual 
compositions  were  the  Madonna  enthroned  with  the  infant 
Jesus  in  her  arms,  surrounded  by  holy  personages,  or  angels, 
with  the  portraits  of  those  who  ordered  the  paintings,  generally 
of  diminutive  size,  to  express  humility,  and  kneeling  in  ado- 
ration, with  clasped  hands  and  upraised  eyes.  Unless  the 
characteristics  of  the  master-hand  are  unmistakable  in  this 
class  of  works,  they  are  to  be  ranked  as  of  the  schools  of  the 
gre^t  men  whose  general  features  they  bear.  And  it  must  not 
be  forgotten  that,  frequently,  pupils  developed  into  distinguished 
masters  themselves.  Taddeo  Gaddi  and  Puccio  Capanna  worked 
under  Giotto,  while  he  lived,  and  afterwards  acquired  distinc- 
tion in  an  independent  career. 

The  favorite  field  of  the  early  masters  was  fresco  painting. 
Unlike  painting  in  oils,  it  has  no  resources  of  transparency, 
brilliancy,  and  richness  of  coloring,  but  depends,  for  its  nobil- 
ity of  effect,  upon  the  hardier  virtues  of  art,  and  the  more 
robust  genius  of  the  artist.  His  success  lies  in  strong  and 
eloquent  design  and  invention,  with  but  comparatively  feeble 
aid  from  color.  Fresco  and  tempera  paintings  were  chiefly 
intended  for  the  interior  of  sacred  or  public  edifices,  whose  dim 
light  harmonized  their  more  or  less  crude  and  positive  tones. 
It  was,  however,  only  through  the  breadth  and  freedom  of 
wall-painting  that  the  ambition  of  the  early  masters  was  fully 
aroused,  and  their  powers  found  ample  scope.  Out  of  it  they 
created  a world  of  art  unknown  and  unappreciable  to  those 
who  cannot  view  it  as  it  exists  in  the  consecrated  localities, 
and  amid  the  solemn  associations  whence  it  originated.  All 
over  Italy,  by  the  road-side,  and  in  the  sanctuary,  there  is  un- 
told treasure  of  their  art,  pure,  grand,  or  quaint,  telling  truth 
with  the  earnestness  of  conviction,  and  diffusing  beauty  through 
aroused  feeling  and  refined  sentiment,  overflowing  with  virgin 
power,  and  exalted  efforts  — everywhere  untransportable,  often 


46 


ITALIAN  PRIDE  IN  ART. 


in  localities  untrodden  except  by  the  feet  of  the  stolid  peasant, 
or  the  heavy-jawed  monk,  seen  only  by  enthusiastic  seekers, 
are  these  monuments  of  a noble  art,  once  more  being  awakened 
into  vital  existence  by  the  piety  and  taste  of  a generation  whose 
great  joy  it  is  to  uncover  and  restore  to  the  light  of  day  those 
precious  remains  which  have  been  so  often  barbarously  white- 
washed by  the  clergy  of  the  two  past  centuries,  from  no 
better  motive  than  to  give  greater  light  to  their  churches. 
Especially  in  Tuscany,  the  souvenirs  of  ancestral  greatness 
are  now  cared  for  with  a zealous  patriotism,  honorable  alike 
to  the  feeling  and  knowledge  of  its  population.  The  chief 
desire  of  the  inhabitants  is  to  reinvest  the  monuments  of 
the  republic  with  the  character  and  aspect  which  best  recall 
their  olden  freedom  and  enterprise.  And  the  highest  glory 
that  can  be  bestowed  upon  these  monuments  is  their  literal 
conservation  and  restoration,  as  they  originally  were  built ; 
nothing  being  added  or  taken  away  except  to  their  loss. 

Not  only  patriotism,  but  selfish  acquisition  demands  of  Italy 
the  strict  conservation  of  her  art.  Monuments  like  hers  are 
funds  at  interest  for  posterity.  Until  her  new  era  of  prosper- 
ity has  fairly  begun,  her  livelihood  depends,  in  no  small  degree, 
upon  her  artistic  attractions.  Nowhere  is  there  a livelier 
feeling  for  artistic  beauty,  greater  respect  for  the  past,  and  a 
wider  spread  knowledge  of  art.  In  all  times  will  other  peoples 
come  within  her  borders  to  enjoy  and  study  that  which  she 
can  still  so  lavishly  bestow. 

Tourists  roundly  rate  Italians  for  their  sordid  indifference 
to  their  art,  attributing  to  the  people  at  large  the  spirit  of 
the  mercenary  or  ignorant  few  with  whom  they  are  most  in 
contact.  It  is  true  that  others  may  hear,  as  we  have  heard 
from  a noble  marquis,  in  reply  to  a question  about  his  family 
pictures,  “ Ask  my  major-domo,  he  may  know  — had  your 
query  been  about  horses,  I could  have  told  you,”  — they  will 
also  see  those  who  should  be  above  such  meanness  playing  the 
part  of  low  dealers,  and  perhaps  receive  propositions  to  buy 
works  of  art  robbed  from  public  places.  But  such  instances 
Even  the  spirited  deportment  of  the  Signo- 


are  uncommon. 


AUTHENTIC  WORKS  OF  RAPHAEL. 


47 


rina  Borgherini,  as  told  by  Vasari,  to  a dealer  wlio  attempted, 
during  the  siege  of  Florence,  to  get  possession  of  certain  paint- 
ings belonging  to  her  husband,  for  the  purpose  of  sending 
them,  on  speculation,  to  the  King  of  France,  may  still  find  its 
counterpart,  in  feeling,  if  not  in  action,  among  some  of  the 
present  daughters  of  that  city.  “ How  then,”  she  exclaimed, 
“ dost  thou,  — Giovanni  Battista,  thou  vile  broker  of  frippery, 
miserable  huckster  of  farthings,  — dost  thou  presume  to  come 
hither  with  the  intent  to  lay  thy  fingers  on  the  ornaments 
which  belong  to  the  chambers  of  gentlemen  ; despoiling,  as  thou 
hast  long  done,  and  art  ever  doing,  our  city  of  her  fairest  or- 
naments, to  embellish  strange  lands  therewith  ? I prize  these 
pictures  from  reverence  to  the  memory  of  my  father-in-law, 
from  whom  I had  them,  and  from  the  love  I bear  to  my  hus- 
band ; I mean  to  defend  them,  while  I have  life,  with  my  own 
blood.  Away  with  you,  then,  base  creature  of  nothingness ! 
If  again  thou  shouldst  be  so  bold  as  to  come  on  a similar 
errand  to  this  house,  thou  shalt  be  taught  what  is  the  respect 
due  to  the  dwelling  of  a gentleman,  and  that  to  thy  serious 
discomfort;  make  sure  of  it.”  And  so  she  drove  the  intriguing 
bargainer  away,  with  “ reproaches  of  such  intolerable  bitter- 
ness that  the  like  had  never  before  been  hurled  at  man  alive.” 
Be  it  remembered,  too,  that  Vasari  was  a good  judge  of  the 
quality  of  a Florentine  dame’s  scolding,  for  he  had,  in  his 
younger  days,  passed  an  ignoble  apprenticeship  under  the 
weight  of  Lucrezia  Fede’s  tongue. 

A like  close  relation  between  master  and  scholar,  the  effect 
of  which  was  to  multiply  works  by  joint  labor,  obtained  among 
the  contemporaries  of  Raphael,  as  well  as  of  Giotto.  The 
precise  number  of  the  genuine  works  of  Raphael,  owing  to  the 
cleverness  of  many  of  his  pupils,  will  perhaps  never  be  known. 
Coindet  says  there  exist  by  him  one  hundred  and  eighty  to 
two  hundred  Holy  Families  alone.  Some  writers  compute  the 
number  of  his  works  at  from  five  hundred  to  six  hundred  — 
others  even  quote  twelve  hundred  as  authentic.  These  ex- 
aggerated estimates  only  prove  how  extremely  popular  his 
designs  became,  and  the  great  number  of  pictures  ordered 


48 


COPIES  AND  REPETITIONS. 


from  them,  some  of  which,  no  douht,  had  the  advantage  of 
being  touched  by  his  hand,  while  all,  in  some  way  or  other, 
bear  his  mental  impress.  Moreover,  the  great  masters  fre- 
quently changed  their  methods  and  styles,  so  that  one  might 
be  mistaken  for  another.  They  also  studied  and  even  copied 
each  other.  Andrea  del  Sarto’s  copy  of  Leo  X.  by  Raphael, 
passed  undetected  even  by  Julio  Romano,  who  had  himself 
worked  on  the  latter.  Rubens  and  Velasquez  imitated  the 
greatest  Italian  masters,  particularly  Paul  Veronese  and  Ti- 
tian ; the  Carracci  and  their  school  multiplied  Correggios, 
Raphaels,  and  the  chief  Venetians;  Girolamo  da  Carpi,  of 
Ferrara,  the  same ; and  all  with  a degree  of  success  that  has 
greatly  perplexed  later  generations ; their  own  works,  in  turn, 
as  they  became  popular,  experiencing  from  subsequent  artists 
the  same  process  of  multiplication.  Of  the  celebrated  Ma- 
donna of  Loretto  there  are  not  fewer  than  ten  rival  claimants 
for  authenticity;  while  sketches,  studies,  and  works,  not  di- 
rectly imitated  from,  but  partaking  of  the  character  of,  great 
artists,  often  clever  enough  to  be  confounded  with  their  un- 
doubted works,  are  not  rare.  Portraits  in  particular,  being 
direct  studies  from  nature,  are  difficult  to  decide  upon. 
Hence  it  is  that  criticism  is  so  variable  in  its  decisions. 

Beside  the  above  sources  of  perplexity,  it  encounters  another 
obstacle  from  the  restorations  pictures  have  undergone.  In- 
jured by  time  or  obscured  by  repeated  varnishings,  they  often 
require  some  degree  of  cleaning  to  make  them  intelligible. 
Unfortunately,  in  most  examples  the  process  is  sheer  assas- 
sination. Many  of  the  best  works  of  the  public  galleries  have 
been  subjected  to  scrubbings  more  analogous  to  the  labors  of 
the  wash-tub,  than  to  the  delicate  and  scientific  treatment 
requisite  to  preserve  intact  the  virgin  surface  of  a painting. 
Mechanical  operators  have  passed  over  them  with  as  little 
remorse  as  locusts  blight  fields  of  grain.  Their  rude  hands,  in 
numberless  instances,  have  skinned  the  pictures,  obliterating 
those  peerless  tints,  lights  and  shadows,  and  those  delicate  but 
emphatic  touches  that  bespeak  the  master-stroke,  leaving,  in- 
stead, cold,  blank,  hard  surfaces  and  outlines,  opaque  shadows 


RESTORATIONS  AND  REPAINTINGS. 


49 


and  crude  coloring,  out  of  tone,  and  in  consequence  with  dete- 
riorated sentiment  as  well  as  execution.  The  profound  knowl- 
edge and  vigorous  or  fairy-like  handling,  which  made  their 
primary  reputation,  are  now  forever  gone,  leaving  little  behind 
them,  except  the  composition,  to  sustain  it  in  competition  with 
modern  work.  As  bad,  however,  as  is  this  wanton  injury, 
that  of  repainting  is  greater.  Inadequate  to  replace  the  deli- 
cate work  he  has  rubbed  off,  the  restorer,  to  harmonize  the 
whole  and  make  it  look  fresh  and  new,  passes  his  own  brush 
over  the  entire  picture,  and  thus  finally  obscures  whatever  of 
technical  originality  there  might  have  still  been  perceived  after 
the  cleaning.  The  extent  of  injury  European  galleries  have 
thus  received  is  incalculable.  One  instance  will  suffice  as  an 
example  of  many.  Some  years  gone  by,  the  beautiful  Bella 
Donna  of  Titian,  at  the  Pitti,  was  intact.  Unluckily,  it  went 
into  the  hands  of  a professional  cleaner.  A celebrated  dealer 
happened  to  be  in  the  hall  when  it  was  rehung.  Looking  at 
it,  he  exclaimed,  “ Two  weeks  ago  I would  have  given  the 
Grand  Duke  two  thousand  pounds  for  that  picture  on  spec- 
ulation— now,  by , I would  not  give  twenty  pounds.” 

Each  restoration  displaces  more  of  the  original,  and  re- 
places it  by  the  restorer.  As  the  same  hands  generally  have 
a monopoly  of  a public  gallery,  the  contents  of  some  are 
beginning  to  acquire  a strange  uniformity  of  external  charac- 
ter, while  the  old  masters  are  in  the  same  degree  vanishing 
from  them.  These  remarks,  however,  are  more  applicable  to 
past  than  to  present  systems,  for  a reform,  founded  on  true 
artistic  principles,  is  everywhere  beginning. 

Oil  paintings  gradually  darken  in  tone,  while  tempera,  if 
protected  from  humidity,  retain  their  brilliancy  and  clearness 
as  long  as  the  material  on  which  they  rest  endures.  The  true 
occupation  of  the  restorer  is  to  put  the  work  given  to  him  in 
a condition  as  near  as  possible  to  its  original  state,  carefully 
abstaining  from  obliterating  the  legitimate  marks  of  age,  and 
limiting  himself  to  just  what  is  sufficient  for  the  actual  con- 
servation of  the  picture.  One  of  the  chief  needs  of  many 
old  pictures  is  the  removal  of  subsequent  repaintings.  This 
4 


50 


LOCAL  CRITICISM. 


done,  in  general,  tlie  less  added  the  better,  unless,  if  a piece  be 
wanting,  it  can  be  so  harmonized  with  the  original  as  to 
escape  observation.  But  this  is  a special  art,  and  to  be  done 
only  by  those  acquainted  with  the  old  methods.  In  perfect 
condition  ancient  paintings  cannot  be.  We  must  receive 
them  for  what  they  are,  with  the  corrodings  and  changes  of 
time  upon  them.  How  interesting,  in  this  respect,  is  the 
Sienese  gallery  ! Here  the  restorer  has  been  stayed,  and  we 
find  the  pictures  genuine  as  time  itself,  and  more  precious 
by  far  to  the  student  than  the  most  glaring  and  “ refreshed  ” 
surfaces  of  a multitude  of  works  in  other  galleries  which  are 
the  wonder  and  admiration  of  superficial  observers. 

The  greatest  difficulty  of  the  restorer  is  to  harmonize  per- 
manently the  new  vehicles  with  the  old,  for  the  fresh  tints  are 
always  liable  to  assume  a different  tone  from  the  original, 
which  have  already  undergone  the  changes  of  time.  It  may 
be  said  that  the  skill  which  can  escape  detection  in  restoration, 
is  adequate  to  successfully  counterfeit.  This  is  true  only  in 
part,  for  to  mend  is  very  different  from  to  create.  Instances, 
however,  do  occur,  of  such  attempts,  but  they  seldom  long 
escape  detection,  and  never  impose  upon  those  who  have  ex- 
perience in  the  arts  of  the  restorer.  Several  years  ago,  a Ro- 
man artist  successfully  for  a while  passed  off  his  imitations  of 
Claude  and  Salvator  Rosa  as  originals,  at  large  prices,  with 
the  usual  guaranties  of  authenticity.  To  disarm  suspicion,  he 
was  accustomed  to  allow  himself  to  be  seen  at  work  only  upon 
cheap,  vulgar  pictures,  pretending  that  he  was  competent  to 
nothing  better.  Having  sold  one  of  his  Claudes  for  four  thou- 
sand  dollars,  the  trick  was  detected,  and  being  threatened  with 
public  prosecution,  the  fear  of  it  brought  on  his  death. 

Criticism  is  too  often  local  in  its  tone,  being  pledged,  as  it 
were,  to  the  admiration  of  its  favorite  subjects,  and  a corre- 
sponding disregard  of  those  with  which  it  is  not  so  familiar. 
Particularly  in  Italy,  where  the  municipal  feeling  has  been  so 
strong,  the  partisans  of  each  school  were  greatly  prejudiced. 
Each  people,  also,  very  naturally  prefers  its  own  to  another’s 
art,  and  does  not  always  question  its  motives  of  preference. 


51 


“ OLD  MASTERS  ” IN  AMERICA. 

The  Florentines  have  overlooked  the  merits  of  their  rivals, 
the  Venetians  and  Sienese,  who  in  turn  have  reciprocated  : 
while  Italy  as  a whole  has  had  little  regard  for  the  works  of 
other  nations.  England  has  been  slow  to  recognize  the  great 
merits  of  the  southern  schools,  and  France  and  Germany  are 
equally  in  the  bondage  of  local  tastes  or  transitory  fashions. 
But  true  criticism  is  cosmopolitan.  It  tests  merit  according 
to  the  standard  of  its  motive,  not  overlooking  excellence 
in  any  respect  or  degree.  A truly  catholic  view  of  art  is 
the  result  only  of  its  universal  study.  The  critic  may  be 
just  to  all  inspirations,  and  yet  enjoy  his  own  preferences. 
But  as  Blackwood  observes,  too  many  “ are  self-endowed 
with  the  capacity  to  judge  all  matters  relating  to  the  fine 
arts  just  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  their  ignorance, 
because  it  is  not  difficult  to  condemn  in  general  terms,  and  to 
attain  notoriety  by  shallow  pretence.”  “ Neither  the  narrow- 
ness of  sect  nor  the  noise  of  party  ” should  be  heard  in  this 
matter.  As  a great  gallery  should  represent  all  phases  of  art, 
through  their  several  stages  of  progress  and  decay,  meeting  all 
wants  and  tastes,  so  criticism  should  be  founded  on  equally  as 
broad  a foundation.  Not  proud  of  its  erudition  nor  dictatorial, 
but  with  due  humility  uttering  its  opinions,  prompt  to  sustain 
them,  and  yet  ever  ready  to  listen  and  learn. 

“ Old  masters  ” are  almost  a byword  of  doubt  or  contempt 
in  America,  owing  to  the  influx  of  cheap  copies  and  pseudo- 
originals, of  no  artistic  value  whatever.  It  is  the  more  im- 
portant, therefore,  that  they  should  be  fairly  represented 
among  us,  by  such  characteristic  specimens  as  are  still  to  be 
procured.  Some  modern  artists  are  jealous  of,  or  indifferent 
to,  past  genius,  and  sedulously  disparage  it  in  view  of  their 
own  immediate  interests.  Bayle  St.  John,  in  his  u Louvre,” 
relates  that  he  heard  an  Associate  of  the  Boyal  Academy 
“ deliberately  and  energetically  declare  that  if  it  were  in  his 
power  he  would  slash  with  his  knife  all  the  works  of  the  old 
masters,  and  thus  compel  people  to  buy  modern.”  This  spirit 
is  both  ungenerous  and  impolitic.  If  neither  respect  nor  care 
for  the  works  of  departed  talent  be  bestowed,  what  future  has 


52 


JEALOUSY  OF  MODERNS. 


the  living  talent  itself  to  look  forward  to  ? Art  is  best  nour- 
ished by  a general  diffusion  of  aesthetic  feeling  and  taste. 
There  can  be  no  invidious  rivalry  between  the  dead  and 
living.  Alfred  Tennyson  looks  not  with  evil  eye  upon  John 
Milton.  Why  should  a modern  be  jealous  of  a mediaeval 
artist  ? They  are  all  the  brethren  of  a lofty  career.  The 
public  can  love  and  appreciate  both.  Nor  should  it  be  for- 
gotten that  it  is  precisely  in  those  countries  where  old  art  is 
most  appreciated  that  the  modern  is  most  liberally  sustained. 


ART-STUDIES. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Psychological  Origin  of  Art.  Its  Functions.  The  two  great  Cycles  of  Prog- 
ress, Paganism  and  Christianity.  Ideas  and  Character  of  each.  In  what 
the  Superiority  of  either  one  lies.  Results  of  ultimate  Triumph  of  the  latter. 
Reaction  of  Protestantism  upon  Catholicism  in  Art.  Pagan  and  Papal 
Mythology.  Necessity  of  Humanity  for  a personal  Deity.  Olympus  and 
the  new  Jerusalem.  Jupiter  and  “ Our  Father.”  Pagan  Hades  and  Chris- 
tian Hell.  Heathen  Philosophy  less  efficacious  for  Salvation  than  Christ’s 
Gospel.  Why.  Paganism  the  Forerunner  of  Christianity.  No  Sect,  Race, 
or  School  monopolizes  Truth  and  Beauty.  The  Facts  of  Catholicism,  good 
or  bad  in  its  Sphere  of  Faith  and  Practice,  in  Relation  to  Art.  Final  Com- 
parison between  Christian  and  Greek  Art. 


Art  is  coeval  with  Mind.  Its  origin  is  dimly  seen  in 
the  realms  of  myth,  struggling  into  being  contemporane- 
ous with  civilization  itself.  As  soon  as  the  human  intellect 
became  active  and  self-developing,  slowly  learning  to  unfold 
its  varied  gifts,  feeling  prompted  it  to  executive  expression. 
The  creative  faculty  implanted  in  man  by  Divinity,  in- 
spired by  fancy  and  imagination,  could  not  idly  fold  its 
hands  in  passive  content  with  the  gratuitous  beauties  of 
the  natural  world,  but  was  impelled  into  rivalry  with  it ; 
venting  its  inherent  sentiment  and  force  in  making  the 
earth  more  attractive  as  a dwelling-place,  and  interpreting 
to  the  senses,  by  sensuous  imagery  and  spiritual  symbolism, 
the  language  of  other  spheres.  As  mankind  grew  to  be 
refined  and  cultivated,  art  became  universal  and  exalted ; 


5k  PSYCHOLOGICAL  ORIGIN  OF  ART. 


ITS  FUNCTIONS. 


not  equal  in  intensity  and  diffusion  among  all  races,  for 
circumstances  of  climate,  locality,  and  necessity  have  al- 
ways influenced  its  manifestations,  while  its  sesthetic  spirit 
has  often  been  repressed  by  bigotry,  or  debased  by  super- 
stition. Still,  if  at  times  the  religious  sentiment  has  been 
its  worst  foe,  it  has  also  shone  as  its  loftiest  inspiration, 
prompting  it  to  the  apotheosis  of  thought  and  feeling,  and, 
by  its  suggestive  beauty,  lifting  the  soul  above  vulgar 
Struggle  and  carnal  Pleasure. 

In  this  last  office  it  assumes  the  position  of  Teacher. 
While  mind  is  confined  by  its  present  physical  organiza- 
tion, securing  its  natural  food  by  the  aid  of  tangible  means, 
art  is  of  necessity  one  of  the  most  efficacious  agents  of  its 
growth  and  refinement.  Especially  is  it  eloquent  in  point- 
ing out  the  correspondence  between  the  seen  and  those 
superior  conditions  of  soul-being,  whose  refinements  of 
form  and  color  are  beyond  the  cognizance  of  our  material 
senses.  In  this  shape  it  speaks  by  Suggestion.  Devotion 
tinges  its  idealizations,  and  imparts  to  it  the  evidence  of 
faith.  The  religious  idea  becomes  its  ruling  sentiment ; 
its  expression,  the  interpretation  of  the  soul. 

Art  has,  however,  important  functions  beside  religious 
homage  and  aspiration.  It  is  also  the  scribe  of  history. 
Descriptive,  narrative,  conservative,  and  illustrative,  na- 
ture and  fact  are  its  domain,  and  every  passion,  thought, 
and  feeling  its  fuel.  But  all  this  is  secondary  to  its  pro- 
phetic mission ; while  of  yet  inferior  importance  and  more 
universal  application  is  its  province  of  Pleaser,  which  in- 
cludes beauty  in  the  exclusive  sense  of  adornment,  or  that 
aesthetic  expression  which  is  intended  to  gratify  the  ear 
and  eye,  and  charm  the  taste,  without  higher  motive  than 
sensuous  enjoyment.  Our  present  purpose  is  to  explain 
and  illustrate  the  highest  functions  of  art,  contrasting 


TWO  GREAT  CYCLES  OF  ART. 


55 


briefly  its  two  greatest  developments ; the  one  under  the 
Pagan,  the  other  under  the  Christian,  dispensation. 

The  history  of  Art  may  be  divided  into  two  great  cy- 
cles, in  each  of  which  Worship  has  been  the  vital  principle. 
As  soon  as  men  could  paint  or  carve,  they  fashioned  unto 
themselves  images  for  adoration.  All  other  forms  of  art 
— whether  historical,  ornamental,  or  sensual,  as  among  the 
ancients,  or  domestic,  descriptive,  fanciful,  or  illustrative, 
as  in  landscape-art  with  the  moderns  — are  offshoots  from 
the  great  fundamental  idea  which  first  inspired  art,  and 
which  gave  it  an  impetus  that,  in  both  eras,  carried  it 
forward  to  the  utmost  development  it  was  capable  of 
receiving  in  sentiment  from  the  quality  of  the  religious 
thought  of  either  epoch,  and  in  execution  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  material  and  skill  in  its  use.  The  reaction  from 
the  exaggeration  of  that  idea,  or  rather  the  restricted  use 
made  of  it,  in  both  periods  it  being  gradually  degraded 
to  the  service  of  superstition  and  despotism,  led,  in  each 
instance,  to  like  resulcs.  First  we  had  rude  art,  pure  in 
inspiration  and  symbolic  in  meaning,  but  in  popular  influ- 
ence tending  to  fetichism.  Secondly,  as  civilization  ad- 
vanced, art,  still  subjected  to  the  religious  idea,  took  a 
broader  development  under  the  laws  of  beauty,  looking  to 
nature  for  instruction.  Mind  being  essentially  free  in  both 
these  periods,  art  speedily  assumed  its  loftiest  elevation, 
greatest  variety,  and  finest  execution.  Then,  as  the  wheel 
of  progress  slowly  revolved,  the  cycle  of  thought,  which 
in  either  case  art  represented,  began  its  downward  turn, 
losing  itself,  in  each,  in  national  sensualism,  infidelity,  and 
political  degradation.  Grecian  art,  which  was  the  highest 
type  of  pagan  civilization,  embodying  the  Sensuous  princi- 
ple of  life,  illustrates  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  first  cycle. 
Catholic  art,  as  it  rose  from  the  debris  of  the  classical, 


56 


PAGANISM  AND  CHRISTIANITY. 


based  itself  upon  the  opposite  view,  or  the  Ascetic,  which 
became  the  dominant  sentiment.  Enjoyment  was  the  great 
desire  of  the  one,  expiation  the  aim  of  the  other.  By  the 
retributive  action  of  nature’s  offended  laws,  which,  forbid- 
ding the  sacrifice  of  one  portion  of  its  being  to  another, 
demand  normal  employment  and  enjoyment  alike  for  all  its 
faculties,  the  psychological  injury  thus  done  to  humanity, 
though  under  influences  so  diverse  in  character,  produced 
like  results.  In  both,  the  sensual  gradually  overcame  the 
spiritual  principle.  Art  having  exhausted  its  one-sided 
mission,  and  developed  the  ruling  sentiment  to  its  utmost 
limits,  nothing  remained  but  for  it  to  follow  the  reactionary 
bias  of  human  nature,  which  drew  it  into  the  service  of  its 
lusts.  This  crisis  of  its  existence  passed,  its  downward 
march  was  rapid.  The  revolution  of  Catholic  art  may 
thus  be  briefly  traced.  At  first,  pure,  simple,  rude,  and 
symbolical,  as  its  germ  took  root  in  the  catacombs  of 
Rome  ; then,  amid  a checkered  career,  iconoclasm  fighting 
strenuously  against  idolatry,  for  many  centuries  under 
Byzantine  forms  scarcely  rising  in  influence  above  feti- 
chism  ; afterwards,  purified  and  reinvigorated  by  the  awak- 
ened mind  of  Europe,  it  rose  to  its  loftiest  flight  in  medi- 
aeval effort;  and  finally,  as  free  communities  were  absorbed 
by  the  progress  of  despotic  centralization,  pride,  luxury, 
and  sensuality  invaded  art,  and,  aided  by  selfish  power  and 
corrupt  learning,  soon  emasculated  it  of  all  purity  and 
nobility,  reducing  it  to  a mere  pander  to  prince  and  prel- 
ate. Its  last  condition  was  worse  than  that  of  fetichism  ; 
that  at  least  was  sincere,  and  founded  on  faith,  unen- 
lightened though  it  was.  But  its  debasement  was  that  of 
a courtesan,  defiled  by  its  own  adornments,  and  prostituted 
to  every  caprice  and  vile  passion.  Inane,  tricky,  and  extrav- 
agant, the  Catholic  art  of  this  period  is  a mean  sham.  Its 


IDEAS  AND  CHARACTER  OF  EACH. 


57 


descent  may  be  measured  by  the  distance  between  Fra 
Angelico  and  Carlo  Dolce,  Michel  Angelo  and  Bernini. 
We  do  not  say  there  was  no  talent  in  this  decadence. 
There  was  much  and  varied.  The  eclectic  schools  evince 
this.  Great  names  adorn  them,  and  intellect  without 
feeling,  or  feeling  without  knowledge,  sometimes  per- 
formed comparative  wonders.  They  were  ablest  in  the 
sphere  of  revived  classicalism.  Their  inspiration  was 
from  pagan,  and  not  catholic  Home.  Hence  they,  the 
more  readily,  fell  in  with  the  kindred  tastes  of  the  rulers 
of  their  age.  Christian  faith,  if  not  the  forms,  was  more 
or  less  effete.  Atheism  was  rife  in  the  holy  mother 
church.  Protestantism  fiercely  assaulted  it  from  without. 
Between  the  two,  the  art  that  had  so  glorified  it  in  its  day 
of  earnest  belief  fled  forever  from  it. 

We  do  not  believe  in  the  resuscitation  of  any  forms  of 
knowledge  and  faith,  when  once  their  climacteric  is  passed, 
and  their  course  is  downward.  It  seems  foreign  to  the 
scheme  of  nature.  Her  vital  principles  remain  ever  the 
same.  Love,  faith,  hope,  and  fear,  the  elements  of  re- 
ligion, are  always  active  in  the  human  heart.  But  the 
shapes  they  assume  in  art  depend  upon  their  degree  and 
quality  of  quickening  grace.  Catholic  art,  in  its  mediaeval 
character,  will  no  more  revive  than  will  the  art  of  Nineveh 
or  Egypt.  It  will  linger  long  amongst  us,  withering 
slowly  away  from  the  roots,  as  the  new  phase,  based  upon 
the  freer  principles  of  Protestantism,  grows  apace.  From 
the  past  we  may  gain  instruction  for  the  present.  Hence 
the  importance  of  properly  investigating  and  preserving 
that  art  which  looms  upon  us  so  grandly  from  the  mists 
of  a theology  fast  losing  its  hold  in  the  hearts  of  men.  It 
may  be  very  long  before  its  dogmas  and  ceremonies  pass 
as  completely  away  as  those  of  heathen  Greece  and  Rome, 


58 


DOCTRINE  OF  ASCETICISM. 


but  the  time  is  fast  ripening  for  new  and  more  spiritual 
views  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus.  Christianity  is  destined 
finally  to  supersede  sectarianism.  Love  will  replace  Fear. 
Then  asceticism,  no  longer  known  in  life  or  faith,  will 
moulder  away  with  the  dead  sensualism  of  Paganism. 

Christianity  did  not  at  once  fix  itself  in  the  world  in  the 
full  intent  of  its  author.  He  correctly  comprehended 
humanity  in  all  its  bearings  and  duties,  present  and  future, 
and  was  himself  a lover  of  beauty,  enjoying  sensuous  life, 
eating  and  drinking,  refreshing  his  soul  with  friendships, 
and  his  senses  with  the  joys  of  creation.  But  as  his 
disciples  multiplied  and  became  more  remote  from  him,  the 
sad,  withering  doctrine  of  asceticism,  at  first  simply  a stern 
protest  against  the  vices  of  decrepit  heathenism,  but  soon 
exalted  to  the  measure  of  faith,  stifling  the  generous  cur- 
rents of  life,  became  the  law  of  Christianity.  Out  of  it 
arose  that  controlling  sentiment  in  art,  painful  and  dis- 
cordant, making  of  existence  a wearisome  physical  penance 
instead  of  a spiritual  joy,  diversified  hy  rare  but  golden 
gleams  of  future  paradisiacal  reward,  which  was  the  general 
artistic  inspiration  through  the  long  Byzantine  period  to 
the  days  of  Giotto  and  his  successors,  until  Masaccio  and 
his  followers  bestowed  upon  it  new  expressions,  borrowed 
more  directly  from  secular  history  and  the  natural  world. 

Just  criticism  is  impartial  and  universal.  It  has  two 
errors  to  avoid : one,  the  bias  of  the  individual  to  ex- 
aggerate the  importance,  in  relation  to  the  whole,  of  any 
special  sentiment  or  method  in  warm  accordance  with  his 
personal  instincts  ; the  other,  the  tendency  to  narrow  the 
judgment  to  the  standard  of  the  conventional  theology 
which  forms  the  groundwork  of  every  strictly  religious 
education.  For  the  former  impulse  allowance  is  easily 
made,  as  its  action  is  ingenuous  and  earnest.  A predilec- 


SUPERIORITY  OF  CLASSICAL  ART. 


59 


tion  for  color  over  form,  or  the  reverse ; for  one  school 
more  than  another  ; or  one  quality  of  sentiment,  the  sensu- 
ous over  the  ascetic,  the  severe  over  the  cheerful,  the  super- 
ficial over  the  profound ; or  any  shade  of  difference  that  marks 
one  individualism  from  another,  is  sympathetic  and  intelli- 
gible. Our  own  promptings  suggest  the  measure  whereby 
to  judge  of  those  of  others ; which  in  turn  recoil  upon  us, 
and  force  an  appeal  to  impartial  reason  on  behalf  of  merit 
on  its  own  grounds.  But  to  void  the  mind  of  the  effects  of 
a sectarian  training,  so  as  to  look  upon  art,  be  it  of  India, 
Etruria,  the  Rome  of  the  Csesars  or  of  the  Popes,  with 
the  equal  eye  of  justice,  sympathizing  with  and  detecting 
beauty  and  truth  under  any  guise,  however  foreign  to  the 
ideas  forced  upon  our  youth,  is  indeed  difficult.  Unless 
the  critic  can  arrive  at  this  impartiality,  he  is  liable,  like 
Winckelmann  and  Goethe,  to  decide  wholly  under  the  in- 
fluences of  classicalism,  or,  like  Rio,  Montalembert,  and 
the  Dominican  Marchese,  to  see  facts  and  motives  solely 
through  the  medium  of  Catholic  theology  ; or,  if  a fanatical 
Protestant,  to  write  under  a holy  horror  of  both. 

Before  reviewing  the  rise  and  fall  of  that  branch  of 
painting  which  had  its  origin  and  development  directly 
from  primitive  Christianity,  it  is  expedient  to  point  out 
the  fundamental  distinctions  between  it  and  the  art  of 
Greece  and  Rome,  to  which  it  succeeded  as  a destroying 
conqueror. 

The  superiority  of  classical  art  lay  in  its  execution. 
While  it  remained  the  simple  expression  of  sacred  dogmas, 
controlled  by  priestcraft,  it  was  as  narrow  and  rude  as  the 
early  Catholic  art.  Freed  by  philosophy,  and  inspired  by 
the  poetical  element  of  the  Grecian  mind,  it  chose  sensuous 
beauty  as  its  model,  and  the  earth  as  its  basis  of  action  and 
faith.  Its  supernatural  field  was  feeble  and  undefined. 


60 


ITS  SUPERNATURAL  ELEMENT. 


Olympus  was  but  a lofty  mountain,  and  its  divinities,  not 
even  the  spirits  of  “just  men  made  perfect,”  but  fanciful 
embodiments,  in  human  and  animal  forms,  of  the  elements 
of  the  natural  world.  Fertile  imaginations  created  shapes 
symbolical  of  the  hidden  forces  of  air,  earth,  and  water, 
and  peopled  those  realms  with  multitudinous  beings,  whose 
images  were  adored,  first  from  fear,  and  afterwards  as  the 
protective,  sympathizing,  executive  agencies  of  still  higher 
powers.  Even  these  were  but  men  with  the  passions  of 
humanity.  Classical  mythology  gave  birth  to  no  martyr- 
doms for  sacred  principles  ; no  lofty  virtues ; no  self-deny- 
ing, ecstatic  saints,  or  prophetic-tongued  men.  Instead,  it 
was  prolific  in  rapes,  wars,  thefts,  revellings,  and  revenge. 
Its  character  is  indicative  of  a low  moral  standard,  such  as 
everywhere  prevailed,  among  the  chosen  people  of  Jehovah, 
equally  with  others,  in  the  infancy  of  our  race.  Jupiter 
and  Juno,  Veiius  and  Vulcan,  Mercury  and  Minerva,  are 
the  imperfect  beings  of  earth,  heroic  only  in  greater  power, 
more  beauty,  profounder  wisdom,  and  larger  physical  devel- 
opment, capable  of  more  acute  sensuous  enjoyment  and  suf- 
fering, louder  laughter  and  bitterer  wailing.  Their  hearts 
were  filled  to  the  brim  with  lusts  and  vices.  They  were 
vain,  boastful,  jealous,  treacherous,  and  tricky ; never  in 
harmony  among  themselves,  or  at  unity  in  regard  to  man- 
kind. In  short,  in  its  philosophic  estate,  pagan  mythology 
was  nothing  more  elevated  than  the  embodiment  in  beau- 
tiful forms  and  poetical  expression  of  the  sentiments  of 
pantheism ; in  its  purest  conditions,  the  action  of  those 
dim  instincts  of  divine  truths  that  penetrate  the  hearts  of 
exceptional  men  in  all  ages  ; in  its  commonest,  the  myths 
and  secrets  of  nature  sensualized  and  degraded  to  the  vul- 
gar comprehension  ; a chaos  of  conflicting  forces,  without 
a positive,  central  Oneness.  Instead,  a multitude  of  de- 


ITS  SENSUOUS  BEAUTY. 


61 


ified  men  and  women,  whose  translation  from  earth  to 
heaven,  far  from  purifying-  their  souls,  had  invested  them 
with  organizations  capable  of  greater  intensity  of  lust  and 
selfishness  than  was  common  to  their  primal  conditions, 
though,  at  times,  not  without  godlike  attributes  according 
to  pagan  comprehension.  Art  inspired  from  such  a re- 
ligion could  not  rise  above  its  moral  level.  We  find, 
therefore,  its  subjects  all  drawn  from  human  powers  and 
actions,  subordinated  to  the  laws  of  physical  and  intellec- 
tual beauty,  which  were  detected  and  practised  with  a 
sagacity  in  accommodating  means  to  ends  never  since  sur- 
passed. These  laws  relate  chiefly  to  human  and  animal 
form  and  architecture.  Consequently,  in  asserting  the 
superiority  of  Grecian  over  modern  art  in  execution,  it  is 
limited  to  its  own  chosen  province.  Proportion,  combina- 
tion, adaptation,  symmetry,  repose,  grace  ; the  interweav- 
ing of  instinctive  action,  or  the  chosen  idea,  into  shapes  that 
express  each  in  its  highest  conditions  of  character  and 
beauty,  with  the  fittingest  adjustment  of  the  subordinate 
parts,  into  a harmonious  Unity : such  were  the  chief  ex- 
cellences of  this  art  to  which  moderns  owe  so  much,  al- 
though it  is  known  only  in  fragmentary  sculpture,  mosaic 
or  fresco  compositions,  and  the  disinterred  wealth  of  domes- 
tic life.  All  these  objects  betray  the  ruling  passion  for  sen- 
suous Beauty.  Often  obscene,  oftener  unchaste,  sometimes 
pure  and  grand  beyond  description,  severe  or  lovely  ac- 
cording to  the  animating  idea,  adorning  the  grandest 
edifices  and  descending  to  the  meanest  utensils ; in  tem- 
ple, palace,  forum,  and  house,  not  disdaining  the  com- 
monest offices ; everywhere  utility  subordinate  to  art,  we 
find  among  the  ancients  evidences  of  their  predominant 
sentiment,  even  in  the  gloom  of  the  tomb  itself. 

When  the  followers  of  the  Galilean  obtained  their  final 


62 


TRIUMPH  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


victory  over  paganism,  their  fiercest  retribution  was  vented 
upon  the  images  and  associated  arts  of  the  divinities, 
for  denying  whose  worship  they  had  passed  through  so 
much  tribulation  and  martyrdom.  Theirs  had  been  a 
bloody,  fiery  track,  from  the  catacombs  to  the  golden  house 
of  the  Csesars.  Connected  with  all  their  past  agonies,  and 
prohibited  by  the  spirit  of  their  Gospel,  were  those  still 
eloquent  witnesses  to  the  former  domination  of  the  king- 
dom of  Satan.  The  more  beautiful  the  art,  the  more  dan- 
gerous to  their  souls.  Beauty  had  long  ago  lapsed  into 
sensuality  ; faith  into  infidelity.  Hard  and  fiercely  did 
polytheism  buffet  the  incoming  tide  of  monotheism.  But 
in  vain.  The  Power  that  had  permitted  its  phase  of 
religion  had  now  signalled  its  doom.  To  other  dogmas 
and  a more  spiritualized  faith  had  been  intrusted  the 
religious  destinies  of  mankind.  “ Thou  shalt  have  no 
other  gods  before  me.”  Jehovah’s  fiat  had  entered  into 
the  hearts  of  zealots.  It  was  accepted  as  the  new  dispen- 
sation in  its  literalest  sense.  Iconoclasm  for  a while  ran 
riot.  With  the  abolition  of  pagan  rites,  pagan  art  was 
destroyed  also.  True,  that  in  the  gradual  decadence  of 
the  moral  and  political  power  of  paganism  in  the  three 
centuries  preceding  the  absolute  triumph  of  Christianity 
by  the  edicts  of  Constantine,  art  had  correspondingly  de- 
clined from  its  pure  Grecian  standard,  and  was  rapidly 
being  undermined  by  its  own  leaven  of  decay.  But  the 
thing  itself  now  being  abhorred,  force  was  added  to  corrup- 
tion. Gregory  I.,  pope  and  saint,  is  accused  of  having 
burnt  the  Palatine  library  and  thrown  the  most  precious 
works  of  antiquity  into  the  Tiber.  Even  if  he  can  per- 
sonally be  exonerated  from  this  charge,  as  some  Catholic 
writers  fain  believe,  we  have  had  sufficient  examples  of  the 
bigotry  of  Protestant  fanatics  nearer  our  own  time,  easily 


PROTESTANT  REACTION. 


63 


to  imagine  the  scenes  that  must  have  been  enacted  through- 
out the  Roman  empire,  after  temples,  statues,  and  paintings 
were  doomed  to  destruction  on  religious  grounds.  Alas  ! 
there  had  been  much  provocation.  Precious  blood  had 
flowed  in  torrents  to  sustain  false  altars,  and  precious  souls 
had  become  sensualized  by  their  atmosphere.  Souls  lost 
for  them ! Down,  down  with  every  seduction ! Upon 
them,  axe  and  fagot!  Grind  to  dust,  and  scatter  to  the 
winds  of  heaven ! Idolatry  was  the  watchword  of  their 
ruin.  So,  amid  fire,  blows,  and  controversial  hate,  the 
priests  of  Jupiter  were  despoiled  of  their  vocation,  and 
everything  associated  with  their  rites  either  purged  to  new 
uses  or  utterly  destroyed.  How  could  it  have  been  other- 
wise than  that  classical  art,  under  the  double  pressure  of 
its  own  debasement  and  the  assaults  of  monotheism,  should 
have  passed  completely  away  from  the  memories  of  man  I 
It  survived  only  in  sepulchres,  or  was  buried  under  its  own 
foundations,  to  be  slowly  disinterred  in  more  enlightened 
times  for  our  instruction. 

Papal  Rome,  like  imperial  Rome,  sustaining  herself  by 
the  sword,  has  in  turn  undergone  what  she  meted  to 
others.  Her  art,  though  purer  than  that  she  destroyed, 
could  not  be  saved  from  desolation,  after  she  had  debased 
it  to  fraud,  idolatry,  and  persecution.  In  16J<5,  the  Eng- 
lish parliament  ordered  all  pictures  belonging  to  the  na- 
tion having  Christ  represented  upon  them  to  be  publicly 
burned,  and  everything  connected  with  the  66  papal  super- 
stition ” given  over  to  destruction.  An  exception  was 
made  for  pictures  of  the  Virgin,  intended  solely  for  art. 
These  — one  would  think  by  a species  of  sardonic  pleas- 
antry— were  permitted  to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the 
poor  Irish. 

Wherever  protestantism  triumphed  in  the  fifteenth  and 


SUPERIORITY  OF  CATHOLIC  ART. 


Gf 

sixteenth  centuries,  the  crucifix,  the  long-venerated  images 
of  saints,  holy  utensils,  even  the  sacred  edifices  themselves, 
experienced  the  same  ruthless  fate  from  its  bigotry  that 
classical  art  had  received  ten  centuries  before  from  papacy. 
Had  the  victory  of  the  former  been  as  complete  and  uni- 
versal as  that  of  the  latter,  Catholic  art  would  have  sur- 
vived to  us  only  as  that  of  Greece,  in  mutilated  remains. 
It  is  now  fast  becoming  a souvenir  of  the  Past,  under  the 
more  peaceful  and  permanent  progress,  which  the  freer 
spirit  of  protestantism  is  gradually  working  out  in  the 
social  and  political  destinies  of  the  earth.  Consequently, 
it  is  the  more  necessary  that  we  should  comprehend  its 
character,  and  piously  conserve  whatever  of  it  is  left  to  us. 

The  superiority  of  Catholic  to  classical  art  lies  in  its 
motive.  Inferior  to  it  in  abstract  beauty  and  excellence  of 
composition,  it  rose  far  above  it  in  the  quality  of  its  inspi- 
ration and  its  range  of  topics.  Classical  art  limited  itself 
to  the  strictly  possible.  It  did  not  soar  above  the  ideal- 
ization of  the  actual,  except  so  far  as  a poetical  fancy  in- 
pired  it.  The  beauty  it  coveted  was  that  of  Apollo  and 
Venus  ; incarnations  of  life,  light,  and  joy.  To  the  Greeks, 
the  earth  was  a delectable  abode ; life,  a good  gift ; enjoy- 
ment its  object,  and  the  gods  sympathized  with  them.  They 
were  content  to  be  men.  Faith  carried  them  not  beyond 
a sensuous  horizon.  They  dared  to  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry ; to  offer  libations  to  jolly  divinities,  believing  that 
they  likewise  delighted  in  emotions  and  passions  like  their 
own,  shutting  their  eyes  meanwhile  to  the  quicksand  of 
sensuality  that  yawned  beneath  their  feet. 

Catholic  art,  yearning  for  spiritualities,  quickened  by  a 
divine  faith,  overlooked  earth,  and  fixed  its  ecstatic  gaze 
upon  heaven.  It  strove  after  the  impossible.  The  divini- 
ties of  Greece  were  expressible  in  material.  Brush  and 


ITS  SUPERNATURAL  RANGE. 


65 


chisel  could  create  them  from  human  models.  Not  so 
with  Jehovah,  the  unrepresentable  and  unspeakable.  His 
Olympus  was  Infinity  ; his  being-,  Eternity ; the  home  of 
his  chosen,  the  new  Jerusalem.  His  ministering  spirits, 
supernatural.  Angels  and  archangels,  seraphs  and  cherubs, 
the  mystic  Three  in  One ; glories  too  intense  for  mortal 
sight;  the  spiritual  Sublime,  comprehending  all  Beauty, 
all  Truth,  all  Love ; the  Future  of  disembodied  man,  for 
weal  or  woe : such  was  the  range  of  Catholic  art.  What 
wonder  that,  compared  with  what  it  sought  to  embody,  it 
was  less  successful  than  that  of  heathendom.  In  its  very 
failure  we  have  the  evidence  of  its  spiritual  greatness. 
Going  to  the  opposite  extreme  of  the  Greeks,  it  shattered 
beauty  and  wrecked  happiness  upon  the  shoals  of  ascet- 
icism. Earth  was  not  to  it  a pleasant,  enjoyable  abode; 
a sphere  of  self-development ; the  preliminary  step  to  a 
higher  grade  of  existence.  But  it  was  a monstrous  pit- 
fall.  Faith  pictured  it  as  a temptation  and  penance.  Hell 
lay  beneath,  separated  only  by  a thin  crust.  Each  moment 
was  pregnant  with  eternal  torments.  Every  instinct  and 
earthly  blessing  had  its  Satanic  side.  Sin  coursed  through 
each  vein  and  salivated  every  nerve.  Natural  desires  and 
necessities  were  to  be  dreaded  and  strangled.  In  fine, 
human  nature  was  not  only  made  deceitful  and  dangerous 
above  all  things,  but  physical,  never-ending  agonies,  from 
which  the  untutored  imagination  recoiled  in  horror,  pre- 
pared for  all  mankind,  not  accepting  or  not  knowing  the 
formula  of  salvation  prescribed  by  the  Church.  The  sub- 
lime, simple,  and  intelligible  doctrines  of  Jesus  were  meta- 
morphosed into  a mystical  science,  and  the  keys  of  heaven 
and  hell  confided  to  priestcraft.  A new  mythology 
gradually  grew  into  existence,  with  its  traditions,  facts, 
devils,  and  divinities,  corresponding  to  every  grade  and 


66 


CATHOLIC  MYTHOLOGY. 


variety  of  defunct  paganism.  Instead  of  incarnated  ele- 
ments and  agencies  of  the  natural  world,  with  their  poeti- 
cal halo  of  myths  and  legends,  and  their  beauteous  forms, 
Catholic  art  had  the  more  difficult  and  less  pleasing  task 
of  making  representable  and  adorable  abstract,  mystical 
dogmas ; in  fact,  to  recreate  that  necessity  of  unenlight- 
ened man  in  all  ages,  material  images  which  should  repre- 
sent his  ideas  of  God,  heaven,  and  hell. 

Catholicism,  therefore,  seduced  by  that  instinct,  more 
imperious  in  some  races  than  others,  for  external  objects 
by  which  to  kindle  its  faith,  speedily  developed  a mythol- 
ogy, not,  indeed,  as  copious  as  that  of  Greece,  but  based 
upon  the  same  general  principles  of  idealization  and  incar- 
nation. Personality,  it  would  appear,  is  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  the  popular  comprehension  of  Divinity.  Among 
Protestants,  this  doctrine  is  universally  received,  though, 
interpreting  the  second  commandment  of  Sinai  in  its  most 
obvious  sense,  they  do  not  make  to  themselves  64  graven 
images  in  the  likeness  of  anything  that  is  in  heaven  above, 
or  in  the  earth  beneath,  or  in  the  water  under  the  earth,” 
44  to  bow  down  to  them,  and  worship  them.”  Not  so, 
however,  do  the  more  imaginative  southern  races  under- 
stand the  “jealousy”  of  44  the  Lord  their  God.”  They 
multiply  his  images,  and  personify  his  attributes,  that  they 
may  bodily  worship  them.  There  is  a holy  instinct  in  the 
heart,  which  makes  it  thrill  to  truths  and  virtues  so  pure 
and  exalted  as  to  seem  above  the  reach,  though  not  beyond 
the  hope,  of  humanity.  Such  fire  its  impulses,  and  keep 
alive  its  faith  in  perfection.  If  the  Greeks  and  Homans 
of  old  sought  to  embody  their  highest  conceptions  of  deity 
in  forms  of  sensuous  beauty,  what  marvel  that  their  de- 
scendants should  have  continued  the  practice,  infusing  into 
their  new  creations  the  holier  inspirations  of  Christianity  1 


CATHOLIC  MYTHOLOGY. 


67 


The  Thunderer,  Jupiter,  was  replaced  by  God,  the  Fa- 
ther. His  banquetings,  and  his  amorous  escapades  to 
earth,  with  the  dubious  doings  of  his  kindred  crew, 
whether  as  fables,  the  personifications  of  natural  phe- 
nomena, or  the  actualities  which  the  pagan  heart  lusted 
for  in  its  idea  of  heaven,  were  superseded  by  the  mystical 
Trinity,  with  its  doctrines  of  atonement,  and  purification  by 
the  Holy  Spirit,  sent  direct  to  each  craving  sinner’s  soul. 
Sensuality  was  swept  clean  away  by  the  new  theology. 
Sackcloth  and  ashes,  the  agonies  and  solemn  passion  of 
Christ,  the  supernatural  darkness  and  horror  of  the  Cruci- 
fixion, the  fearful  disclosures  of  eternal  torments,  the 
martyrdoms,  bufferings,  and  ultimate  triumphs  of  the  new 
religion,  with  its  abasement  of  sense  to  spirit,  gradually 
drove  the  more  seductive  scenes  of  pagan  celestialities  from 
human  memories.  The  query  now  was,  not  how  life  shall 
be  enjoyed,  but  what  shall  be  done  to  save  souls.  The 
Present  was  absorbed  in  the  Future. 

Hercules  and  his  twelve  labors  gave  way  to  the  acts  of 
the  twelve  apostles.  Cupids,  demons,  genii,  Titans  and 
Prometheus,  furies,  fates,  and  tutelary  deities,  the  entire 
prolific,  poetical  lore  and  beautiful  legends  of  heathenism 
were  transformed  into  the  superior  fancies  of  Christian 
minds.  Not  fancies,  merely ; nay,  realities.  For,  as  new 
and  more  complete  revelations  of  immortality  descended  to 
earth  through  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  the  eye  of  faith  saw 
more  clearly  into  the  nature  and  conditions  of  spiritual 
life.  Although  partially  blinded  by  theological  craft, 
and  befogged  by  sensual  obtuseness,  yet  it  did,  at  times, 
catch  glimpses  of  unutterable  things.  Then  arose  in 
mankind  the  idea  of  a purer,  nobler  life,  with  illimitable 
spiritual  capacity,  based  upon  the  impregnation  of  human 
with  divine  mind.  Hence  its  heaven.  Hence  its  wonder- 


68 


OLYMPUS  AND  THE  CITY  OF  THE  LORD. 


ful  hierarchy,  its  powers  and  dominions,  thrones  and  prin- 
cipalities, saints  and  glorified  martyrs,  the  just  perfected, 
and,  above  all,  that  divine  incarnation  of  virgin  loveliness 
and  maternal  tenderness,  the  highest  type  of  female  beauty 
and  virtue,  the  goddess  mother,  Queen  of  Glory,  as  far 
superior  to  Diana  and  Venus  as  the  spirituality  of  the 
Christian’s  heaven  is  to  the  sensuousness  of  the  Mahome- 
tan paradise.  Instead  of  crowns,  goblets,  and  nectar,  the 
tokens  of  sensual  appetites,  vanity,  pride,  and  envy,  the 
joke  and  trick,  nudity  and  debauchery,  we  have  ineffable 
harmony,  ecstatic  joy,  the  symbols  of  earthly  trials  and 
purifications.  Cross,  fagot,  knife,  or  gridiron,  by  which- 
ever instrumentality  of  suffering,  human  nature  won  its 
celestial  crown,  here  we  find  its  representation,  the  distin- 
guishing glory  of  each  conquering  spirit.  And  not  the 
tests  alone,  but  the  rewards  also.  Wreaths  of  heavenly 
roses,  the  music  of  divine  harps,  garments  resplendent 
with  gold  and  precious  stones,  thrones  flaming  with  celes- 
tial light  — whatever  ravished  the  eye,  was  harmonious  to 
the  ear,  chaste  to  the  sight,  or  elevating  to  the  soul,  sym- 
bolized by  those  objects  which  were  most  precious,  delec- 
table, and  glorious  to  the  sanctified  heart,  abounded  in 
the  New  Heavens. 

Mark  the  distinction  between  Olympus  and  the  great 
city  of  the  Lord  ! In  the  one  there  is  all  action.  The 
gods  laugh,  cry,  roar.  They  are  susceptible  to  pain  as 
well  as  to  passion.  If  their  lives  be  the  exaltation  of  hu- 
manity, the  gain  is  balanced  by  its  extra  weight  of  dross. 
Among  them  we  see  neither  purification  nor  sanctification. 
They  do  not  die,  nor  do  they  cease  to  suffer.  The  ideali- 
zation of  the  pagan  mind  never  rose  above  the  level  of  its 
earth-bound  conceptions.  For  its  deities  and  their  heaven 
it  could  invent  nothing  superior  to  the  exaggerations  of 


JUPITER  AND  “OUR  FATHER. 


69 


earthly  powers  and  pleasures.  True,  its  hell  is  very  weak. 
It  scarcely  thought  of  that.  A place  of  departed  spirits ; 
nothing  defined ; confinement,  darkness,  being ; a shadow, 
a vapor,  a shade,  not  comfortable,  perhaps  miserable,  but 
no  hideous  eternity  of  torments,  with  a pitiless,  revengeful 
Creator  frowning  forever  thereupon.  This  invention  was 
reserved,  in  its  complete,  picturesque  horror,  for  the  new 
theology.  Nothing  was  too  precious  for  its  saved,  nor  too 
awful  for  its  damned. 

True,  the  Catholic  deities,  Christ  and  the  Virgin,  weep 
and  rejoice , not,  however,  for  themselves,  but  for  others. 
In  them  we  perceive  that  ineffable  tenderness  and  self-sac- 
rifice, as  wonderful  in  its  height,  depth,  and  breadth,  as  hell 
was  prolific  with  gaping  misery.  These  are  sympathetic 
gods,  penetrated  with  love  and  compassion  for  the  human 
race.  They  comprehend  frailty  and  temptation.  They 
pity  and  pardon.  They  love  their  enemies.  They  joy  in 
doing  good,  not  counting  the  cost  nor  the  gain  to  them- 
selves. Egoism  is  foreign  to  their  natures.  In  them, 
passion,  infirmity,  and  weakness  are  annihilated.  They 
are  truly  divine.  The  spirit  rules  triumphant.  How 
wide  the  chasm  between  Diana  and  Mary,  Jupiter  and 
“ Our  Father  ” ! 

In  all  ages,  heathen  philosophy  has  had,  not  prophets, 
but  sages.  Their  truths,  comprehended  by  the  learned 
few,  fell  vacuous  upon  the  masses,  if  ever  they  reached 
them.  Wise  men  of  India,  China,  Egypt,  Persia,  and 
Greece,  before  the  advent  of  Christ,  uttered  sublime  say- 
ings and  wholesome  maxims.  In  spirit,  some  even  antici- 
pated much  of  the  lofty  morality  of  Jesus.  All  taught 
well.  Socrates,  in  the  quiet  sublimity  of  his  death,  well- 
nigh  forestalls  Christ.  But  there  lacked  an  element  in 
them  which  abounded  in  him.  Philosophy  may  be  sub- 


70 


A CHRIST  NEEDED. 


lime,  but  it  is  cold.  To  the  hard-working'  world,  Plato  is 
an  abstraction.  To  benefit  mankind  at  large,  the  wisdom 
and  knowledge  such  as  he  gathered  to  himself  must  be 
transfused  into  action,  suffering,  and  plain  doctrine.  Pro- 
found reflection  is  the  attribute  of  hut  few.  Impulse,  in- 
stinct, are  common  to  all.  Hence,  while  men  are  deaf  to 
verbal  verities,  they  are  keenly  sensible  to  the  noble  and 
beautiful  in  example.  It  was  reserved  to  Christ  alone  to 
magnetize  the  universal  heart.  His  words  were  instruc- 
tion ; his  life,  revelation.  Both  went  to  the  marrow  of 
humanity.  They  were  what  it  needed.  Some  being, 
bearing  its  likeness,  with  the  same  bodily  susceptibilities, 
one  of  the  people,  generous,  unselfish,  sublime  in  the  sim- 
plicity of  virtue,  and  intelligible  in  spoken  truth,  fearless 
because  of  the  higher  life  within  him,  feeling  his  self-im- 
posed duty,  unshrinking  from  the  sad  present  because  of 
his  repose  upon  the  great  future,  animated  by  God  him- 
self, the  medium  of  the  Word,  if  needs  be  of  its  Power, 
a preacher,  prophet,  and  martyr ; also,  in  every  relation  of 
life,  a loving,  pleasant  MAN  : such  was  what  the  world 
required  to  inspire  it  with  new  religious  thought,  the  while 
demonstrating  its  vitality  and  practicability.  The  Times 
had  ripened  for  a Christ.  The  Christ  came. 

Man  creates  his  god  out  of  his  ideal  good.  It  may  be 
an  image  of  wood  or  of  gold ; the  incarnation  of  pride, 
ambition,  luxury,  or  lust.  It  may  be  a being  of  goodness, 
power,  wisdom,  love ; or  all  combined  in  infinite  degree. 
We,  each  of  us,  fashion  our  deities  according  to  the  quality 
of  our  souls,  and  the  living  lessons  before  them.  If  so 
be  we  are  sincere,  earnest,  and  progressive,  our  god,  be 
its  symbolization  what  it  may,  is  to  be  respected.  It  is 
our  present  highest.  Education  and  inspiration  will  de- 
velop still  higher  ideas,  and,  of  consequence,  a correspond- 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHARITY  IN  ART. 


71 


ing  idealization  in  faith  and  material.  Art  is  the  fore- 
shadowing* of  the  thought.  It  incarnates  our  best  con- 
ceptions and  aspirations,  portrays  and  betrays  our  affec- 
tions, and  is  the  gauge  of  our  intellect.  If  the  art  or 
action  of  another  be  superior  to  our  own,  provided  we  are 
seekers  and  not  dogmatizers,  either  awakens  within  us  a 
corresponding  effort  that  lifts  us  above  our  former  level. 
T1  le  fact  that  we  are  capable  of  progression,  should  make 
us  charitable  to  all  thought  and  its  generated  art,  truthful 
and  sincere  in  itself,  which  covers  the  ground  over  which 
we  have  painfully  trod,  or  others  have  for  us.  The  pagan 
mind  should  no  more  be  despised  than  the  Catholic.  With- 
out the  former,  the  latter  would  not  have  been.  It  was 
the  first  turn  in  the  wheel  of  human  development.  So, 
if  we  are  now  on  the  vantage-ground  of  greater  knowl- 
edge and  further  insight  into  spiritualities,  it  equally  be- 
hooves us  to  have  a sympathy  for  and  to  discover  the  truths 
and  beauties,  after  their  own  kind,  which  may  still  speak  to 
our  souls,  because  a graft  on  a common  faith,  from  out  of 
the  past  of  Catholic  art.  But  charity  and  appreciation 
need  not  disarm  criticism.  Wherever,  and  in  whatever, 
we  find  artifice  and  inanity,  a foul  spirit  and  lying  tongue, 
whether  the  remains  of  classicalism  or  the  degeneracy  of 
Catholicism,  it  is  a duty  to  expose  and  denounce  them. 

No  sect,  school,  or  race,  has  a monopoly  of  truth  or 
beauty.  Providence  disperses  its  gifts  widely  and  lavishly. 
We  cannot,  therefore,  help  seeing,  despite  the  narrowing 
tendencies  of  a specific  Protestant  training,  — for  all  edu- 
cation based  upon  sectarianism  is  necessarily  restrictive  and 
exclusive,  — and  notwithstanding  the  false  logic,  false  pre- 
tence, and  culpable  superstitions  of  Catholicism,  that  its 
sphere  of  religious  thought  and  faith  is  at  the  bottom 
broader,  and  consequently  embracing  more  truth,  at  the 


72 


OUR  STAND-POINT. 


same  time  including*  all  the  religious  truth  of  protestant- 
ism  without  its  liberty.  This  confession  will  satisfy  neither 
party.  But  it  is  necessary  to  manifest  our  stand-point  of 
criticism  for  the  task  before  us.  We  see  much  truth 
hidden  among  the  traditions  of  the  Church.  Her  miracles 
are  not  all  unreal.  As  we  progress  in  our  understanding 
of  the  mysteries  of  nature,  we  shall  see  that  the  miracu- 
lous will  disappear  before  the  natural.  There  is  a spirit- 
ual world  near  by  and  intimately  associated  with  our  own. 
Purgatory  is  not  a barefaced  fiction.  Earth-life  has  an 
influence  over  spirit-life  which  reciprocates.  There  is  a 
communion  of  saints.  Hierarchies  do  exist.  Angels  and 
demons,  possessions  and  revelations,  are  not  necessarily 
illusions.  We  can,  and  sometimes  do,  hold  converse 
with  the  departed.  Prayer  avails  them  as  it  does  us. 
Spirit-life  is  not  a fixed,  eternal,  unchangeable  fact,  as  prot- 
estantism  would  define  it,  hut  progressive,  self-developing. 
Catholicism  is  an  ecclesiastical  despotism,  and  therefore  we 
deny  it.  But  we  perceive  its  greater  spiritual  adaptation 
to  man,  and  wider  range  of  natural  truths ; and,  alas ! its 
more  cunning  adaptation  of  unworthy  means  to  low  ends ; 
its  subtle  appeals  to  sense  and  to  selfishness ; its  all  things 
to  all  men  ; so  let  it  rule.  Catholicism  is  elaborated  priest- 
craft. But  gold  still  shines  through.  As  the  mud  of 
Californian  rivers  conceals  the  rich  treasure  imbedded  in  it, 
here  and  there  sparkling  into  light,  so  do  the  artifices  and 
audacities  of  papacy  the  Word  brought  by  Jesus  into  the 
world. 

Having  thus  briefly  referred  to  the  primary  differences 
of  scope  and  inspiration  between  classical  and  Catholic  art, 
and  the  position  which  the  latter  bears  towards  protestant- 
ism,  before  proceeding  in  subsequent  chapters  to  review 
Christian  painting,  we  will  repeat,  that  while  we  must 


CATHOLIC  ART  EXCELLED  IN  MOTIVE.  ^3 

admit  that  Greek  art  excelled  in  execution,  because  its  aim 
was  natural  and  its  object  beauty,  yet  Catholic  art  far  ex- 
celled it  in  motive.  It  soared  higher,  saw  further,  was  purer, 
nobler,  truer.  Superior  in  these  points,  its  comparative 
inferiority  resulted  from  its  essaying  the  supernatural  and 
mystical,  shrinking  not  from  the  sublimities  of  the  God- 
head, appealing  earnestly  to  spiritual  beauty,  and  failing,  not 
in  idea,  but  in  execution,  from,  in  its  outset,  overlooking  too 
much  the  aesthetic  side  of  art,  and  the  study  of  nature  on 
which  it  rests.  This  failure  was  so  partial  and  so  inconse- 
quential compared  to  the  real  greatness  of  its  works, 
that  we  are  tempted  to  overlook  it.  But  criticism  must 
not  be  obstructed  by  sympathy.  Nor  should  we  forget 
those  important  periods  of  art,  one  of  stagnation  and  fanat- 
icism, and  the  other  of  sensualism  and  infidelity,  the  former 
succeeding  to  the  simplicity  of  primitive  Christian  art,  and 
the  latter  to  the  mediseval  epoch,  in  which  Catholic  art 
shone  with  so  bright  a lustre  over  Europe.  It  shall  be 
our  effort  to  trace  the  stream  of  Christian  art,  chiefly  in  the 
Tuscan  and  Umbrian  schools,  through  its  various  muta- 
tions, so  as  to  present  them  in  a connected  and  intelligible 
aspect,  with  their  relations  to  national  and  intellectual 
progress. 


CHAPTER,  II. 


Christian  Art  divided  into  three  distinct  Epochs,  Theological,  Religious,  and 
Naturalistic.  Origin  and  Characteristics  of  each.  Bath-life  of  Imperial 
Rome,  vs.  The  Art  and  Life  of  the  Catacombs.  Purism  in  Art.  Results 
of  Church  Triumphant  on  Art.  Hermit  Life.  Distinction  between  Latin 
and  Byzantine  Painting.  Root  of  Latin  Art  in.  the  old  Etruscan.  Radical 
Difference  between  it  and  the  Grecian  — the  one  aiming  at  Idealization  — 
the  other  at  Actualization.  Greek  Guide  to  Painting  of  Mount  Athos,  a 
Catechism  of  Byzantine  Art.  Its  Rules  and  Principles.  Nature  and  Origin 
of  Idolatry  and  Symbolism.  Tendency  of  old  Facts  and  Fictions  to  new 
Forms. 


Painting,  as  influenced  by  Christianity,  may  be  divided 
into  three  great  epochs,  viz. : the  Theological,  or  that  in 
which  the  dogmas  and  traditions  of  the  Church  wholly  con- 
trolled art ; the  Religious,  when  mind,  having  become  free, 
though  still  inspired  by  Catholicism,  opened  up  to  itself 
fresh  progress ; and  the  Naturalistic,  in  which  the  motives 
and  models  were  derived  directly  from  the  natural  world. 
The  last  is  the  parent  of  Protestant  art.  The  first  period 
had  its  origin  in  the  catacombs  of  Rome,  beginning  in  the 
second  century,  and  terminating  its  universal  rule  in  the 
thirteenth.  In  southern  Europe,  the  chief  point  of  our 
inquiry,  its  existence  elsewhere  being  but  partial  and  de- 
rived from  this  common  fountain-head,  it  subdivides  into 
two  schools,  the  Latin  and  Byzantine,  each  characterized 
by  the  fundamental  qualities  of  the  two  races.  Both  be- 
gan in  purism,  and  ended  in  fetichism.  The  former  was 
largely  under  the  influence  of  the  latter,  each  ruled  by 
theology,  and  although  to  the  general  observer  there  is 


THEOLOGICAL  PERIOD. 


7 5 


little  to  distinguish  them  apart,  yet  there  do  exist  peculiar 
features  in  either,  which  extend  through  their  common  ori- 
gin, growth,  and  decline. 

The  second  or  Religious  period  was  born  of  the  Latin 
school,  which,  in  the  general  awakening  of  mind  in  Italy 
towards  the  thirteenth  century,  burst  the  theological  shac- 
kles which  had  so  long  bound  painting  into  fixed  and  life- 
less forms,  and,  going  to  nature  and  classical  art  for  in- 
struction, inspired  by  a new  liberty  of  thought  and  action, 
though  still  obedient  to  the  old  faith,  clinging  to  religion 
as  its  primary  inspiration,  produced  two  noble  phases  of 
art,  the  Epic  and  Lyric,  fed  from  pure  but  distinct  streams 
of  feeling  — the  one  looking  more  closely  to  nature  for  its 
incitements,  the  other  to  the  devotional  sentiments.  Under 
their  combined  action,  in  three  centuries,  brilliant  with 
noble  effort,  art  reached  the  summit  of  modern  excellence, 
its  distinctive  feature  the  while  being  Religion,  but  with 
sufficient  scope  of  taste  to  include  every  other  department 
which  tended  to  instruct,  refine,  or  gratify  the  peoples  to 
whom  it  was  daily  bread.  Hence  its  large  admixture  of 
history,  allegory,  mythology,  and  mere  ornament.  These 
were  never  the  dominant  subjects,  but  sufficiently  common 
to  prove  the  more  generous  mental  culture  of  the  times, 
stimulated  by  aesthetic  desire.  Neither  was  the  landscape, 
nor  the  animal  world,  though  held  in  minor  consideration, 
neglected.  Whatever  of  excellence  has  since  been  attained 
for  them  in  art  has  its  primary  example  here.  Unhappily, 
this  rapid  rise  was  succeeded  by  a still  more  rapid  decline. 
Religion  gave  way  to  wanton  scepticism,  freedom  to  selfish 
despotism,  luxury  to  consuming  sensuality.  Art,  which  for 
a while,  under  the  guise  of  the  Renaissance,  flourished  in 
unwholesome  vigor  upon  the  debris  of  paganism,  speedily 
sunk  into  imbecility  and  degradation ; so  that,  while  the 


76 


RELIGIOUS  PERIOD. 


Byzantine  school  still  lingers  wherever  the  Greek  religion 
prevails,  as  the  fossil  of  dogmatic  theology,  the  great  Reli- 
gious period,  so  infinitely  superior,  in  four  centuries  passed 
away  by  the  reactionary  force  of  the  very  causes  to  which 
it  owed  its  being.  Absolute  religious  art  now  exists  no- 
where. * Imitations  and  conventional  revivals,  like  those 
of  Cornelius,  Overbeck,  and  their  disciples,  are  seed  upon 
stony  ground.  Having  no  root  in  the  heart  of  the  present 
age,  they  do  not  thrive.  Copies  possessing  no  life  them- 
selves cannot  impart  it  to  others.  Fortunately,  the  sensu- 
alism which,  fungus-like,  sprung  from  the  Renaissance,  has 
also  perished  with  it. 

The  decline  of  Religious  art  led  the  way  to  the  third 
great  period,  which,  striking  its  roots  into  the  preceding, 
under  the  influences,  if  not  wholly  of  protestantism,  of 
the  renewed  liberty  and  greater  knowledge  which  it  has 
strengthened,  and  the  superior  development,  among  the 
northern  races,  of  domestic  over  public  life,  has  begun  a 
progress  auspicious  of  favorable  results.  Its  development 
thus  far,  based  upon  the  close  sympathy  with  the  external 
world,  characteristic  in  general  of  the  French,  Dutch,  Ger- 
man, and  English  schools,  is  comparatively  low  in  degree, 
and  tending  to  the  common.  But  a higher  aspiration  is 
slowly  struggling  through  their  material  crust.  Symboli- 
cal idealization  was  tbe  great  characteristic  of  the  preced- 
ing period.  Not  the  aesthetic  quality  of  classical  work, 

* Religious  artists,  yes ; filled  with  spiritual  aspirations,  like  Ary  Scheffer, 
but  such  are  the  exceptions,  and  not  the  rule,  of  the  age.  Hess  and  other 
Germans  have,  indeed,  sought  to  revive  gold  and  diapered  backgrounds,  and 
other  characteristics  of  olden  art,  but  their  pale,  cold  half-tints  have  no  like- 
ness to  the  rich,  positive  hues  of  the  early  masters,  and  their  feeling  is  equally 
misplaced  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  which  demands,  not  imitation,  but  new 
life,  in  painting.  Overbeck  has  carried  his  respect  for  ascetic  art  so  far  as  to 
refuse  to  draw  from  living  models,  lest  he  should  become  too  naturalistic,  and 
thus  jeopardize  the  purity  of  his  religious  idealism. 


NATURALISTIC  PERIOD. 


77 


but  the  attempt,  above  all,  to  render  the  spiritual  meaning 
of  art.  Representation  characterizes  this.  To  be  faithful 
to  the  appearance  of  things  and  events  as  seen  by  the  gen- 
eral eye ; to  be  truthful  to  external  nature  ; a matter-of- 
fact,  every-day,  familiar  art,  delighting  in  landscape,  ani- 
mal life,  human  passions,  and  earth-scenes : such  is  the 
naturalism  of  our  day.  It  neither  deifies  humanity,  nor 
worships  beauty ; therefore  it  is  not  akin  to  classical  art. 
It  protests  against  theological  control,  and  pays  no  heed  to 
its  dogmas  ; so  it  has  no  likeness  to  Byzantine  art.  Op- 
posing itself  to  the  spiritualities  of  the  later  religious  art, 
disgusted  with  the  bastard  classicalism  that  succeeded  it, 
renouncing  the  sensualism  and  admonished  by  the  poverty 
of  invention  and  feeling  that  attended  the  decadence  of  the 
second  period,  it  clings  lovingly  to  the  homely  and  facile, 
believes  in  scientific  progress,  and,  as  yet,  neither  aspires 
to  teach  nor  elevate  the  religious  or  aesthetic  mind.  It 
indolently  accommodates  itself  to  the  world  about  it.  But 
such  is  not  its  final  destiny. 

Later  we  shall  endeavor  to  penetrate  beneath  its  crust 
of  materialism,  and  to  discover  its  ultimate  tendencies  and 
possibilities.  At  present,  we  simply  identify  the  three 
great  periods  which  divide  Christian  art,  as  a basis  of  a 
more  particular  classification  to  follow.  Before,  however, 
proceeding  to  the  special  topic  of  this  volume,  the  ideas, 
schools,  and  names  that  in  Etrurian  Italy  illustrate  the 
second  period,  it  is  necessary  briefly  to  review  the  cognate 
phases  of  the  Theological  period. 

This,  as  previously  remarked,  had  its  origin  in  subterra- 
nean Rome,  and  subsequently  grew  into  Latin  art.  Its 
primary  characteristics  are  allegory  and  symbolism.  As  it 
did  not  come  into  existence  until  Roman  art  was  already 
far  gone  in  decadence,  and  then  only  in  the  hands  of  unar- 


78 


PUBLIC  BATHS  OF  ROME. 


tistic  men,  converts  quickened  with  pious  horror  at  the 
idolatrous  images  which  they  had  so  recently  renounced, 
it  is  not  surprising  that  it  should  have  been  simple  in 
motive,  rude  in  style,  and  narrow  in  idea.  Directly  speak- 
ing, it  had  nothing  to  do  with  art.  It  was  simply  pictorial 
writing  and  emblematic  language.  The  early  Christians 
did  not  even  avail  themselves  of  the  technical  skill  and 
artistic  experience  which  Rome  could  still  offer,  for  that 
would  have  connected  their  art  with  heathenism.  Shrink- 
ing from  the  example  of  paganism  in  the  multiplication  of 
idolatrous  images,  at  first  they  did  not  even  permit  the 
representation  of  sacred  subjects. # The  gods  being  re- 
garded as  subtle  devices  of  Satan,  the  artists  who  made 
them  were  looked  upon  as  his  emissaries.  If  one  of 
their  profession  offered  himself  as  a neophyte,  he  was 
refused  baptism  unless  he  renounced  his  art,  and  were  he 
afterwards  detected  in  practising  it,  he  was  cut  off  from 
Christian  fellowship.  With  them,  art,  besides  being  asso- 
ciated with  idolatry,  was  contaminated  by  sensuality.  The 
effect  of  paganism  had  been  to  deify  sensation.  Luxury 
was  stained  with  vice,  and  religion  with  crime.  Pagan 
Rome  breathed  an  atmosphere  of  debasing  indulgence. 
Brutal  appetites  were  gratified  and  stimulated  by  the 
bloody  scenes  of  the  amphitheatres,  and  hardy  bodies 
made  effeminate  by  the  seductive  appliances  of  public 
baths.  These  abounded  in  architectural  magnificence,  ar- 
tistic luxury,  and  every  incitement  to  physical  and  moral 
enervation.  Open  alike  to  all  classes,  during  the  day  they 
were  the  homes  of  the  lowest  vagabonds,  who  at  night  lit- 
tered themselves  on  rags  and  dirt  where  they  best  might. 
But  here,  untaxed,  they  found  provided  for  them  splendid 

* Paintings  were  not  introduced  into  churches  until  the  close  of  the  fourth 
century,  and  Christian  idolatry  began  a century  later. 


ROMAN  BATH-LIFE. 


79 


halls  and  sumptuous  retreats,  whose  atmosphere,  deliciously 
perfumed,  and  graduated  to  every  agreeable  degree  of 
warmth  or  coolness,  fostered  Italian  indolence  to  its  ripest 
insouciance.  But  if  not  inclined  to  delicious  lassitude,  the 
Roman  idler  was  free  to  wander  under  noble  colonnades, 
or  in  delightful  gardens,  enjoying  at  option  music,  recita- 
tions, games  of  skill  and  strength,  gossip,  or  politics,  gaz- 
ing curiously  upon  the  world  of  fashion  about  him,  while 
surrounded  by  the  masterpieces  of  Grecian  sculpture  and 
painting.  He  fed,  too,  in  part,  at  the  public  expense, 
beside  having  at  his  daily  gratuitous  disposal,  to  adminis- 
ter to  his  sensuous  longings,  a degree  of  art,  luxury,  and 
splendor  such  as  Louis  XIV.  coveted  m vain  for  Versailles. 
The  experiment,  therefore,  of  the  complete  development  of 
the  sensuous  man,  apart  from  morality,  may  be  considered 
to  have  been  thoroughly  tried  by  Imperial  Rome.  The 
sage  maxims  of  its  Senecas,  the  philosophical  piety  of  its 
Antonines,  and  the  hardier  virtues  of  its  Trajans  and  Vespa- 
sians,  were  insufficient  to  arrest  the  torrent  of  sensual  deg- 
radation, pampered  and  nurtured  by  a selfish,  corrupt  policy. 
The  old  religion  and  its  art  perished  in  the  moral  wreck. 
With  it  sunk  liberty  and  virtue.  Young  Christianity, 
therefore,  could  not  do  less  than  to  repudiate  the  dying 
past,  if  it  would  itself  live.  It  forbade  all  looking  back 
upon  the  Sodom  whence  it  fled.  Not  only  was  the  spirit 
of  classical  art  proscribed,  but  mortification  of  bodily  appe- 
tites succeeded  to  their  previous  indulgence.  The  transi- 
tion from  the  baths  of  Commodus  to  the  sepulchral  cata- 
combs was  of  itself  no  slight  ordeal  for  a change  of  heart. 
Let  us  trace  its  result  upon  painting. 

The  subjects  found  therein  are  few  and  meagre ; either 
symbols,  the  most  popular  of  which  were  the  cross,  de- 
noting salvation ; the  peacock,  Christianity ; the  anchor, 


80 


CHRISTIAN  SYMBOLS. 


hope,  faith,  and  fortitude ; the  ship,  the  Church;  the  lyre, 
public  worship ; the  palm,  victory ; the  dove,  the  Holy 
Spirit ; the  lamb,  Christ ; or  compositions  borrowed  from 
Scripture.*  In  spirit,  these  early  paintings  were  remark- 
ably pure  and  suggestive.  If  evidence  were  needed  of  the 
sanctity  and  excellence  of  the  primitive  Church,  it  is  to  be 
found  in  them,  poor  though  they  be  in  invention  and  feeble 
in  execution.  They  are,  however,  superior  in  idea  and 
design  to  the  common  standard  of  Italian  art  that  prevailed 
for  centuries  preceding  the  great  revival.  Through  all 
there  shines  a genuine  simplicity  and  sincerity  altogether 
foreign  to  the  Church  triumphant.  It  did  not  refuse  to 
adapt,  or  rather  to  transform,  certain  heathen  compositions, 
as  Orpheus  entrancing  wild  beasts  by  the  melody  of  his 
lyre,  a Mercury  carrying  the  goat,  originally  Greek,  into 
the  Christian  allegory  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  and  to  pic- 
ture the  river-gods  of  antiquity  with  their  urns.  But  it 
carefully  weeded  out  all  pagan  idea  from  the  transformed 
emblems.  Angels  are  not  found  represented  in  the  cata- 
combs, unless  the  little  figures  so  strikingly  like  pagan 
genii,  sporting  amid  vine-branches,  may  be  considered  as 
such.  These  beings,  about  the  fifth  century,  were  finally 
transformed  into  our  angels,  by  being  made  tall,  youth- 
ful, winged,  and  chastely  draped.  Previous  to  this,  there 
existed  a certain  latitude  in  the  use  of  pagan  forms  for 
Christian  symbolism,  partly  decorative  and  partly  instruc- 
tive, evincing  the  slow  transition  of  painting  into  strictly 
Christian  art.  The  Saviour,  in  the  earliest  times,  had  not 
the  traditional  likeness  derived  from  the  letter  of  Lentulus 
to  the  Roman  senate,  first  made  known  in  the  third  cen- 
tury. For  a considerable  period,  the  early  art  continued 

* For  further  details,  see  Lord  Lindsay’s  Christian  Art,  vol.  i.  p.  43.  Lon- 
don, 1847. 


CHARITY  AND  CHASTITY  OF  EARLY  ART. 


81 


to  be  singularly  chaste,  simple,  and  free  from  any  approach 
to  idolatry.  So  scrupulous  was  it  in  regard  to  the 
naked  figure,  that  even  in  its  crucifixions  of  Christ  or 
Peter,  compositions  of  a comparatively  late  period,  each  is 
clothed  in  a long  tunic  reaching  to  his  ankles ; while  the 
Virgin  and  Infant,  saints,  and  even  the  personifications  of 
the  seasons  as  emblems  of  human  life,  are  covered  with 
superabundant  drapery.  Indeed,  one  of  the  chief  distinc- 
tions between  classical  and  Christian  art  was  the  rigid 
avoidance  in  the  latter  of  the  nude.  In  the  earliest  pic- 
tures of  the  Baptism,  Christ  is  hidden  by  the  water  to  his 
waist,  the  idea  being  the  baptism,  while  in  later  art,  the 
ambition  was  to  render  the  naked  figure  of  the  Saviour  as 
beautiful  as  possible,  the  water  never  rising  above  the  ankles. 
But  the  most  touching  witness  to  the  pure  charity  of  the 
earliest  Christians,  and  that,  too,  amid  their  sorest  trials,  is 
the  absence  of  those  martyrdoms,  tortures,  and  pictures  sug- 
gestive of  physical  suffering  and  the  injuries  they  received 
from  their  persecutors,  which  subsequently,  and  long  after 
they  had  ceased,  became  a prolific  theme  in  art.  As  Lord 
Lindsay  truly  witnesses,  “ not  a thought  of  bitterness  or 
revenge  has  expressed  itself  in  painting  and  sculpture  during 
three  centuries.”*  The  most  constant  theme  is  the  joy  of 
the  resurrection.  Immortal  life  was  kept  ever  in  view  by 
significant  emblems.  Scripture  narratives  were  interpreted 
as  typical  of  fundamental  doctrines,  and  the  progress  of  the 
Christian,  through  trials  and  temptations,  guided  by  faith, 
to  final  Redemption.  Christ  was  not  represented  in  his 
agonies  or  passions,  nor  in  those  dramatic  events  of  his 


* Yol.  i.  p.  50.  Agincourt,  pi.  12,  fig.  18,  gives  the  only  instance  that 
might  be  quoted  as  an  exception  ; that  of  a female  saint,  though  in  her  case 
the  fact  of  martyrdom  is  not  explicit.  St.  Sebastian  tortured  by  arrows  is  to  be 
seen,  but  the  date  is  by  no  means  early. 

6 


82 


DECADENCE  OF  EARLY  ART. 


life  which  became  the  favorite  themes  of  later  times : but 
as  a miracle  of  Love ; the  Saviour  triumphant  over  Death 
and  Sin  ; the  mighty  Fact  of  eternal  life. 

This  purism  did  not  long  survive  the  conversion  by 
Constantine  of  the  Church  suffering  into  the  Church  victo- 
rious. With  this  change  came  an  influx  of  other  subjects, 
taken  from  its  histories,  hut  treated  by  artists  recently,  if 
not  still  at  heart,  pagans,  and  whose  education  was  derived 
from  the  practice  and  examples  of  classical  art,  now  in  its 
fullest  decadence.  Combined  with  ignorance  to  disrobe 
art  of  its  simplicity  as  well  as  beauty,  and  to  merge  it 
more  and  more  into  superstition,  was  the  increasing  influ- 
ence of  asceticism  by  means  of  the  dominant  orders  of  hermit 
monks,  who  had  now  risen  to  great  influence  in  the  Church. 
At  first,  the  mosaics  of  Home  and  Ravenna,  executed  in 
the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries,  exhibited  tokens  of  the  ex- 
cellence of  the  bas-reliefs  on  the  column  of  Trajan,  which 
evidently  were  their  models  in  composition.*  But  classical 
example  soon  ceased  to  he  felt,  and  art  degenerated  into  life- 
less forms,  uncouth  and  exaggerated,  in  sentiment  contem- 
plative and  symbolical,  but  more  like  the  rude  efforts  of 
savages  than  the  work  of  a once  highly  accomplished  race. 
We  refer  more  directly  to  Latin  art,  which,  after  it  emerged 
from  the  catacombs,  lasted  in  Italy,  modified  somewhat  in 
the  north  by  the  peculiar  spirit  and  freshness  of  Lombard 
life,  until  the  thirteenth  century,  with  hut  slight  and  transient 
variations  and  those  mainly  of  foreign  origin,  upon  one 
wretched  level  of  artistic  degradation.  With  it,  there  sur- 
vived a decayed  branch  of  classical  art,  in  the  form  of 
miniatures  and  illuminations  introduced  into  the  manu- 
scripts of  the  heathen  poets,  copies  of  which  thus  rudely 
decorated,  dating  from  the  fourth  century,  exist  in  the 
* Agincourt,  pi.  14,  15. 


TECHNICAL  ROOT  OF  LATIN  ART. 


83 


Vatican  and  other  libraries  of  Europe.  The  earliest, 
being  the  best,  betoken  still  more  ancient  examples  of  a 
superior  character,  from  which  they  undoubtedly  were 
borrowed. 

The  technical  root  of  Latin  art  is  in  the  old  Etruscan. 
Greek  art,  both  classical  and  Byzantine,  has  exercised 
much  influence  upon  Italy.  But  it  always  remained  an 
exotic ; fashion  rather  than  feeling,  or  the  purer  taste  of 
amateur  patrons,  being  the  cause  of  its  several  introductions 
and  partial  acclimation.  In  each  instance,  cut  off  from  its 
source  by  time  or  circumstance,  it  has  finally  been  over- 
powered by  indigenous  forms  and  motives,  severe,  grand, 
and  noble,  indicative  of  constitutional  strength  and  energy, 
especially  in  architecture  in  its  best  estate,  as  we  see  in  the 
Roman  arch  and  dome  and  the  rustic  and  massive  Etrus- 
can stone-work,  still  the  prevailing  style  in  Tuscany,  tem- 
pered occasionally  with  the  northern  Gothic  or  southern 
classical  elements,  but  constantly  out-mastering  them,  and 
retaining  its  firm  hold  upon  its  native  soil.  In  painting 
and  sculpture,  the  Etruscans  did  not  rival  their  neighbors, 
the  Greeks ; a fact  vouched  for  by  the  disinterred  art  of 
their  respective  sepulchres,  and  the  artistic  remains  of  those 
cities  in  southern  Italy  founded  by  colonies  from  Greece. 
Coming  northward  to  Etruria  proper,  we  find  that  its  art, 
as  now  chiefly  to  be  seen  in  the  museums  of  Volterra,  Cor- 
tona, and  Florence,  lacks  the  fine  feeling  for  beauty  which 
belongs  to  the  other,  and  though  graphic  and  spirited,  is 
deficient  in  symmetry,  grace,  and  accurate  proportions. 
There  is  much,  however,  especially  in  their  earlier  produc- 
tions, that  indicates  Grecian  influence.  Indeed,  in  both 
epochs,  the  Grecian  and  Byzantine  forms  and  motives  have 
been  so  interfused  with  the  Etruscan  and  Latin,  that  it  is 
difficult  at  times  to  define  the  precise  lines  of  demarcation. 


84* 


SPIRIT  OF  ETRUSCAN  ART. 


But  certain  radical  differences  are  clearly  distinguishable. 
Grecian  art  invariably  seeks  the  heroic  and  beautiful,  and 
consequently  tinges  all  that  it  touches  with  its  spirit  of 
idealism.  In  portraiture,  it  gives  types  of  character  rather 
than  actual  likenesses.  In  imagination,  it  is  more  fertile, 
graceful,  poetical,  and  sensuous.  Etruscan  art,  on  the 
contrary,  with  its  Roman  and  Latin  progeny,  clings  to 
naturalism.  It  deals  in  facts,  and  loves  material  nature. 
Hence  its  portraiture  is  to  be  relied  on.  Personality  is  not 
lost  in  ideality.  Events  are  faithfully  portrayed  as  they 
actually  happened,  without  the  artist’s  first  resolving  them 
by  his  standard  of  beauty  into  their  highest  conditions  of 
being.  He  cared  less  to  exalt  and  more  to  be  true.  Thus 
in  the  one  we  find  facts  ; in  the  other  ideas.  The  deca- 
dence of  both  was  equally  deplorable ; but  in  Byzantine  art 
it  ends  in  exaggeration  and  caricature,  and  in  Latin,  in 
monstrosity ; for  it  was  easier  to  be  naturally  ugly  than  for 
ignorance  to  mimic  beauty  when  its  soul  had  fled. 

A favorable  example  of  so-claimed  Latin  art  in  its  de- 
cadence, is  to  be  seen  in  the  golden  altar-piece  in  the  church 
of  St.  Ambrogiana  at  Milan,  done  in  the  ninth  century,  by 
Wolvenius.*  The  execution  is  so  excellent  as  to  suggest 
Byzantine  skill,  though  Italians  jealously  claim  it  as  their 
own,  without  other  proof  than  its  locality.  As  it  was  cus- 
tomary then  and  later  to  send  to  Constantinople  for  works 
of  this  character,  especially  in  bronze,  and  Byzantine  artists 
as  exiles  or  emigrants  were  much  employed  in  Italy,  the  pre- 
sumption is  in  favor  of  its  Greek  origin,  the  more  so  from 
its  superiority  to  other  work  of  the  same  epoch.  We  find 
no  evidence  of  the  influence  of  Latin  on  Greek  art,  but  much 
to  the  contrary.  The  intercourse  between  the  two  coun- 

* For  colored  engraving  of  which,  see  Ferrario’s  Europa,  vol.  i.  p.  22G. 
Florence,  1831. 


BYZANTINE  ART. 


85 


tries  being  so  constant,  this  would  not  have  been  the  case, 
had  there  not  been  an  acknowledged  superiority  in  the  art 
of  Greece  over  that  of  Italy. 

Byzantine  and  Latin  art  have  been  too  much  confounded, 
and  both  denounced  as  radically  bad.  The  evil  in  them  is 
directly  traceable  to  the  tyranny  of  theology.  But  neither 
their  art  nor  their  theology  is  to  he  unreservedly  con- 
demned. There  was  truth  in  each.  Christianity  is  not 
responsible  for  the  general  dryness,  meagreness,  and  feeble- 
ness of  Latin  and  Byzantine  art.  For  we  perceive  in  the  later 
schools  of  Italy,  that  its  inspirations  were  sufficiently  copi- 
ous, as  soon  as  the  artistic  mind  was  able  to  cast  off  the 
shackles  of  dictatorial  theology,  to  exalt  art  to  its  highest 
conditions.  Properly  speaking,  art  had  no  independent  ex- 
istence from  the  time  of  Constantine  to  Cimabue.  It  was 
simply  pictorial  or  plastic  dogma,  sectarian  thought,  or  his- 
torical fact,  uttered  without  reference  to  artistic  law,  and  en- 
tirely controlled,  even  to  the  forms  and  vehicles  of  expres- 
sion, by  the  dominant  ecclesiasticism.  But  we  find  that  even 
this  source  of  inspiration  was  at  times  open  to  artistic  truth, 
for  the  council  held  at  Constantinople,  a.d.  6Q2,  enjoined  the 
substitution  of  direct  naturalistic  representation  for  symbol- 
ism.* In  strict  fact,  however,  art  was  a slave  to  the  relig- 
ious mind,  which  looked  upon  beauty  as  a snare.  With  the 
sensual  reminiscences  of  paganism  still  so  fresh  about  it, 
joined  to  its  misinterpretation  of  the  44  flesh  and  the  devil,” 
it  is  not  surprising  that  iconoclasts  made  war  upon  art  while 
other  zealots,  with  still  less  reason,  made  it  a principle  to 
rob  it  of  all  external  beauty,  rendering  even  the  body  of 
the  Saviour  as  emaciated  and  repulsive  as  possible,  based 
upon  a literal  reading  of  Isaiah  liii.  2,  44  He  hath  no 


* Lord  Lindsay,  vol.  i.  p.  78. 


86 


BYZANTINE  ART 


form  nor  comeliness.”  # But  notwithstanding  the  restric- 
tions of  theology,  the  Byzantine  artistic  mind  at  times  man- 

* The  Greek  Guide  to  Painting,  (E pgr/veia  rr\Q  fa-ypatyucrjC,)  a monkish  com- 
pendium of  its  rules,  taught  the  preparation  of  lime,  pencils,  colors,  composi- 
tion and  arrangement  of  pictures,  prescribing  the  inscriptions,  and  reducing 
the  art  to  an  unvarying  mechanical  process  still  in  vogue  among  the  Greek 
painters.  M.  Didron,  in  his  Introduction  to  a French  translation  of  this  work, 
Paris,  1845,.  published  by  order  of  the  government,  says  that  the  monks  of 
Mount  Athos  attribute  it  to  the  tenth  or  eleventh  century,  but  he  ascribes  it 
to  the  fourteenth.  Of  Byzantine  art  in  general,  he  writes,  “ In  Greece,  the 
artist  is  the  slave  of  the  theologian ; his  works,  copied  by  his  successors,  he 
copies  from  those  who  preceded  him.  He  is  limited  to  his  traditions  as  the 
animal  to  his  instincts  ; the  work  is  his,  but  the  invention  and  the  idea  are  de- 
rived from  the  theologians.”  Egyptian  art,  likewise,  was  equally  prescribed  by 
the  priesthood  to  defined,  unalterable  forms,  and  from  like  motives.  Indeed, 
wherever  the  theocratic  principle  of  government  has  been  absolute,  art  has 
either  been  fettered  or  proscribed  ; the  Egyptians  and  Byzantines  going  to  the 
one  extreme,  and  the  Jews,  Puritans,  and  Quakers  to  the  other.  The  Byzan- 
tines had  a special  formula  of  prayer,  invocations,  and  pious  exercises,  in  which 
they  say  that  they  painted  in  the  “ fear  of  God,  for  art  is  a divine  thing,”  and 
call  upon  God  “ to  instruct  them.”  Didron,  p.  15.  Their  labors  were  not 
only  prescribed,  but  divided  as  among  manufacturers.  One  designed  the 
compositions  ; another  drew  the  heads ; a third,  the  draperies ; a fourth,  the 
ornaments ; a fifth,  the  inscriptions ; others  prepared  the  gold  grounds  and 
colors,  according  to  written  directions.  But  this  was  for  common  work. 
Genius  occasionally  ventured  flights  on  its  own  pinions,  giving  birth  to  beau- 
tiful compositions,  deeply  imbued  with  Oriental  mysticism.  Before  the  Fall, 
Adam  and  Eve  are  represented  as  without  sex.  In  the  Fall  of  the  Rebel 
Angels,  their  degree  of  ugliness  is  proportioned  to  their  relative  distance  from 
heaven  or  hell ; a mystic  chord,  beginning  with  the  spiritual  beauty  of  the 
pure  angels  in  the  celestial  atmosphere,  and  ending  in  demoniacal  brutality 
with  the  inhabitants  of  the  bottomless  pit.  Seraphim  are  represented  by 
fire-like  red,  with  three  pairs  of  red  wings,  without  drapery,  with  bare  feet, 
and  with  swords.  Cherubim  have  their  feet  covered,  wear  richly  decorated 
tunics,  and  have  two  wings  only.  The  hierarchy  of  heaven  is  divided  into  nine 
great  orders  ; three  classes  subdivided  into  three  sections.  But  the  mysticism 
of  Byzantine  theology  is  too  involved  for  explanation  in  a note.  We  refer 
briefly  to  its  prominent  points,  and  leave  the  curious  reader  to  trace  its  prolix 
meaning  in  its  art. 

The  Byzantines  repudiated  sculpture  in  their  churches  on  account  of  the 
divine  interdict  against  “ graven  images,”  and  because  statuary  afforded  more 
facilities  than  paintings  for  pious  frauds.  The  chief  distinction  between  the 
Byzantine  and  Latin  art-idea  is  the  greater  refinement  and  profounder  mysti- 
cism of  the  former.  The  Latin  benediction  is  represented  by  opening  the  three 
fingers  of  the  right  hand,  and  shutting  two.  The  Greek  requires  an  ingenious 
use  of  the  five,  so  as  to  form  a sort  of  divine  monogram,  IC,  XC,  Jesus  Christ. 


BYZANTINE  ART, 


87 


ifested  happier  influences.  Hence  we  often  perceive  in 
their  cycle  of  compositions  derived  from  the  scriptures,  a 

The  Latin  nimbus  upon  the  heads  of  the  saints  is  a plain  circle ; the  Greek 
includes  a red  cross,  upon  which  is  painted  “ 6 uv,”  I am.  With  them,  John 
the  Baptist  has  wings  upon  his  shoulders,  because  he  is  called  the  divine  mes- 
senger, from  the  same  motive  that  their  ancestors  bestowed  them  upon  Mer- 
cury as  the  messenger  of  Olympus.  In  his  transfiguration,  Christ  is  repre- 
sented in  the  midst  of  a wheel  of  fire,  or  a red  triangle,  symbolical  of  the 
Trinity,  with  rays  of  light  issuing  from  the  “ Man-God.”  (See  plate  A,  fig.  1.) 
The  Latin  composition  is  simply  a diffused  golden  light  or  aureola. 

One  of  the  grandest  and  most  mystical  compositions,  painted  upon  the  great 
cupola  of  churches,  is  the  “ Divine  Liturgy.”  At  the  east  is  Christ,  turning 
his  back  upon  the  principal  altar,  facing  the  worshippers,  attired  as  the  great 
archbishop,  and  on  the  point  himself  of  celebrating  the  solemn  sacrifice  of  the 
mass.  Circling  about  him  defile  an  innumerable  company  of  angels,  bearing 
the  sacred  utensils,  crosses,  banners,  candlesticks,  chalices,  robes,  the  spear  to 
pierce  his  side,  and  the  plate  to  hold  the  host.  Then  follows,  upheld  by  six 
angels,  the  dead  Christ,  now  to  be  laid  in  the  tomb,  as  the  sacrifice  completed. 
Still  another  group  represents  his  baptism  in  Jordan.  The  Saviour  stands 
upon  a large,  square  stone,  from  under  each  angle  of  which,  horrible  serpents, 
emblematical  of  his  triumph  over  sin,  crawl  out.  In  short,  Byzantine  art  was 
the  Bible  interpreted  by  mysticism  ; the  most  profound  mysteries  furnishing 
the  most  popular  subjects.  Its  degradation  was  in  its  rigidity  and  immobility ; 
while  the  Latin  art,  more  naturalistic,  became  rude  and  vulgar,  from  ignorance 
and  decay  of  true  feeling.  This  is  shown  in  its  final  preference  for  the  nude, 
and  the  frequent  choice  of  such  subjects  as  the  incestuous  daughters  of  Lot, 
and  the  amorous  wife  of  Potiphar. 

Let  us  learn  from  the  monks  themselves  their  ostensible  motives  in  painting. 
In  the  Appendix  to  his  Greek  and  Latin  Christian  Manual  and  Iconography , 
p.  451,  Didron  quotes  one  of  them  as  saying,  in  olden  times,  “We  have 
learned,  not  only  from  the  holy  fathers,  but  from  the  apostles,  and  I may  dare 
say  from  Christ  himself,  how  to  make  sacred  images.  We  represent  Christ  in 
the  human  form,  because  he  appeared  as  such  on  earth,  like  to  us  except  in 
sin.  We  also  represent  the  Almighty  as  an  old  man,  because  he  was  seen  as 
such  by  Daniel ; the  Holy  Spirit  as  a dove,  because  it  was  thus  seen  at  J or- 
dan.  We  represent  also  the  traits  of  the  Holy  Virgin  and  all  the  saints,  and 
reverence  them  as  such,  but  do  not  worship  them.  Thus  we  do  not  say  that 
such  or  such  a representation  in  painting  is  the  Christ,  or  Holy  Virgin,  or  a 
real  saint,  but  when  we  render  homage  to  an  image  we  do  it  to  the  prototype 
represented  by  the  image.  We  do  not  adore  the  colors  and  the  art,  but  the 
type  of  Christ,  the  real  person  of  Christ,  who  is  in  the  heavens  — £ for/  says 
Saint  Basil,  £ the  honor  addressed  to  images  is  given  to  the  model.  We  repre- 
sent our  holy  personages  to  recall  their  virtues,  their  labors,  and  to  raise  our 
souls  towards  them.  We  act,  therefore,  wisely  in  respecting  and  honoring 
images.’  ” 

The  principal  workshop  — for  it  cannot  be  considered  as  a studio  — of  the  By- 
zantine school,  is  Mount  Athos  in  Greece,  which  is  a province  of  monks. 


88 


BYZANTINE  ART. 


refinement  in  motive,  a variety  and  spirit  of  expression,  and 
in  faint  degree  a beauty  of  execution,  which  to  some  extent 
recall  their  classical  art.  And  although  the  prescribed  se- 
ries of  Greek  compositions  were  rarely  deviated  from,  yet 
they  contained  so  much  that  was  excellent,  that  they  were 
the  guides  for  many  artists  in  the  palmiest  days  of  Italian 
art,  especially  those  who,  like  Duccio,  Fra  Angelico,  and 
Taddeo  Bartolo,  devoutly  sympathized  with  their  mysti- 
cism. Both  in  Latin  and  Byzantine  art,  their  decadence  and 
utter  lifelessness  were  the  more  apparent  as  they  receded 
from  the  examples  and  traditions  of  their  previous  national 
schools  inspired  by  paganism.  We  cannot,  however,  with- 
out a tiresome  research  into  dates,  and  the  mere  antiquari- 
anism  of  art,  trace  their  precise  fluctuations  in  style  from 
their  origin  to  the  revival  of  Italian  art  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  This  has  been  admirably  done  by  Kugler  in  his 
“History  of  Italian  Painting,”  who  as  concisely  as  possible, 
referring  to  examples  still  visible  in  their  original  localities, 
sketches  the  peculiarities  of  either  school  during  this  long 
period.  The  Latin  art,  ever  animated  in  some  degree  with 
the  old  Etruscan  element  of  action  and  realism,  was  al- 
ways freer  in  spirit  though  ruder  in  technical  execution 
than  the  Byzantine,  which,  the  more  widely  it  departed 
from  the  aesthetic  principles  of  the  classical  school,  relied, 
as  all  debased  art  does,  more  and  more  for  effect  upon 
splendor  of  materials  and  minute  manipulation.  There- 
fore, while,  as  we  shall  perceive,  in  the  revived  Christian 

As  a school  of  painting,  it  has  continued  to  exist  in  a uniform,  unbroken 
career  for  thirteen  hundred  years.  There  are  on  it  twenty  large  monasteries, 
equal  to  as  many  towns,  women,  of  course,  excluded,  ten  villages,  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  isolated  cells,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  hermitages.  The  larg- 
est convents  contain  thirty-three  churches  or  chapels,  and  the  smallest  six. 
Each  cell  has  its  chapel,  and  each  hermitage  its  altar,  so  that  in  all  Mount  Athos 
there  are  nine  hundred  and  thirty-five  churches,  chapels,  and  oratories,  nearly 
all  of  which  are  painted  in  fresco,  and  crowded  with  sacred  pictures  on  wood. 


IDOLATRY  AND  SYMBOLISM. 


89 


art  of  Italy,  costly  and  rich  materials  were  discreetly  and 
chastely  used  with  regard  to  their  symbolical  meaning  and 
effect  in  sacred  topics,  in  the  degraded  Byzantine  they  were 
lavishly  employed  out  of  poverty  of  design  and  invention. 

Before  proceeding  further  in  our  analysis  of  Christian 
painting,  it  is  well  fully  to  define  what  in  the  preceding 
chapter  was  briefly  alluded  to,  viz. : the  true  distinction 
between  idolatry  and  symbolism  or  the  substantive  ideal- 
ization of  the  religious  sentiment.  The  common  rule  with 
Christians  generally,  is  to  class  all  that  has  its  origin  in 
paganism  as  gross  idolatry,  and  amongst  Protestants  all  that 
savors  of  image-worship  with  the  Catholic  is  branded  with 
the  same  opprobrious  term.  This  is  as  uncharitable  as  it 
is  erroneous.  Idolatry  is  the  antithesis  of  Devotion.  Each 
human  being,  according  to  his  plane  of  intelligence,  be  he 
Pagan,  Protestant,  or  Catholic,  creates  to  himself  from  his 
idea  of  the  great  creative  Power,  or  Cause,  a person- 
ality, which  becomes  the  likeness  of  his  good  or  God. 
Unable  to  centre  intelligibly  the  varied  attributes  of  divin- 
ity into  one  individualism,  he  is  led  to  multiply  those 
images  into  as  many  as  are  requisite  to  suggest  all  the 
qualities  essential  to  his  idea  of  God.  Unity  thus  en- 
genders mythology,  not  because  the  latter  is  the  truth,  but 
because  of  the  weakness  of  humanity,  which  demands  a 
subordination  and  incarnation  of  divine  powers  to  come 
down  to  its  level  of  motives  and  sympathies.  Hence  the 
idea  at  the  root  of  the  Jupiters,  Junos,  Christs,  and 
Marys,  or  other  divinities,  is  radically  the  same,  to  wit : 
to  personify  or  symbolize  some  one  or  more  divine  attri- 
butes and  to  keep  it  before  the  external  senses  as  a continued 
suggestion  and  inspiration  of  worship  and  example.  Who- 
ever, therefore,  Pagan  or  Christian,  looks  upon  images  in 
this  light,  though  he  may  kneel  and  pray  before  them,  is 


90 


IDOLATRY  AND  WORSHIP. 


no  more  an  idolater  than  the  Protestant,  who,  excluding 
all  such  outward  helps,  relies  solely  upon  his  mental  image 
of  god  or  devil,  either  of  which  is,  in  his  inner  sight,  as  ab- 
solutely personal  as  if  sculptured  or  painted.  Idolatry 
consists  in  the  quality  of  the  worship  paid,  and  the  substi- 
tution of  the  object , whether  it  be,  as  with  the  Catholic,  an 
image , or,  as  with  the  Protestant,  a book^  which  embodies 
the  idea,  for  the  idea  itself.  As  the  mind  is  narrow  and 
externa],  it  falls  into  the  latter  error,  and  book  or  image, 
abstract  thought  or  embodied  sentiment,  becomes  to  it  an 
idol,  causing  religion  to  degenerate  into  fetichism.  Books 
and  art  are  useful  only  as  they  suggest  truth,  and  elevate 
the  mind  above  the  external  sense  of  things  into  their  spir- 
itual relations.  Hence,  although  in  criticising  art  after  the 
standard  of  its  own  laws,  we  may  be  compelled  to  condemn 
it  in  particulars,  yet  in  general  sentiment  we  may  find  it 
pure  and  elevating.  This  is  the  character  of  much  Catho- 
lic art  of  many  periods.  To  appreciate  it,  we  must  inquire 
into  its  primary  motives.  So  far  as  it  inspires  the  mind 
with  true  devotion,  it  is  worthy;  in  the  degree  that  it 
stimulates  superstition,  unworthy.  As  with  the  Bible,  it  is 
not  the  thing  itself  so  much  as  the  mode  of  interpreting  it, 
that  engenders  good  or  evil.  Art  in  popular  consideration 
has  always  been  secondary  to  the  religious  sentiment.  The 
uncultivated  mind,  barbarous  in  its  ideas  of  divinity,  satis- 
fied itself  with  images  of  corresponding  rudeness,  provided 
it  recognized  in  them  claims  to  veneration.  Hence  we 
find  in  the  age  of  Phidias  as  well  as  of  Raphael,  that  the 
most  beautiful  works  were  all  but  powerless  for  purposes 
of  devotion,  while  shapeless  stones,  and  black,  hideous 
Madonnas  have  been  invested  by  the  multitude  with 
miraculous  powers,  and  worshipped  as  divine.  There  is, 
therefore,  an  intimate  relation  between  error,  idolatry,  and 


IDOLATRY  AND  WORSHIP, 


91 


ugliness,  which  we  must  keep  in  mind  in  judging  art ; dis- 
tinct, however,  from  that  technical  ignorance,  accompanied 
with  great  purity  and  power  of  sentiment,  noticeable  in 
many  of  the  early  masters,  and  which  exalts  their  work 
proportionately.' * 

* This  common  necessity  of  mankind  to  personify  its  religions  ideas  and 
traditions  for  purposes  of  worship,  causes  many  startling  analogies  between 
heathen  and  Christian  art.  In  the  Vatican  there  is  a statue  (fig.  pi.  4, 
Visconti,  Museo  Pio  Clementino,  Milan,  1818)  of  Juno  nursing  Mars,  with  a 
nimbus  around  her  head,  and  rigid  draperies  cast  in  the  Byzantine  mould,  but 
otherwise  so  like  the  later  Madonnas  that  it  might  pass  for  one.  The  halo,  or 
golden  glory,  is  of  pagan  origin,  and  signifies  power.  When  confined  to  the 
head,  it  is  termed  a nimbus,  but  when  it  enveloped  the  body,  an  aureola,  the 
latter  being  restricted  to  the  high  personages  of  heaven.  Evil  spirits,  particu- 
larly Satan,  are  also  painted  with  the  nimbus.  These  are  pertinent  examples 
of  a common  human  sentiment  finding  a common  form  of  expression.  So 
myths  originating  in  the  instincts  of  humanity  are  readily  transferred  from  one 
class  of  forms  to  another,  retaining  under  new  names  their  original  significance. 
The  Lares  of  antiquity  have  their  counterpart  in  the  patron  saints  of  modern- 
ism. God,  as  Jupiter,  to  the  Greek,  signified  regal  power ; to  the  Christian, 
perfect  power,  but  as  the  father.  Zeuxis’s  masterpiece  was  Jupiter  on  his 
throne  surrounded  by  the  gods.  Christian  artists,  like  Raphael  in  his  “Dispute 
of  the  Sacrament,”  simply  modify  this  composition  to  harmonize  the  conception 
to  their  notions  of  the  character  of  the  hierarchy  of  heaven.  Indeed,  we  find 
in  the  Catholic  ritual  and  art  many  such  apparitions ; old  fictions  or  facts  re- 
modelled, despising  their  ancestry,  and  now  ready  to  give  birth  to  an  equally 
ungrateful  progeny. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Relative  Importance  of  Ideas  and  Individuals  in  History.  Conservatism  and 
Progress,  their  Nature  and  Relations.  The  fresh  Tide-wave  of  Artistic 
Growth.  The  Religious  Epoch.  Its  Vigor  and  Comprehensiveness.  A 
New-birth  of  Genius.  Giotto’s  O.  How  the  Age  welcomed  Art.  The 
Multitude  of  Artists.  Etruria  proper  the  chief  Site  of  the  new  Movement. 
The  great  Names  that  distinguish  it.  Methods,  Materials,  and  Frame-work 
of  Mediaeval  Painting. 


The  common  method  of  narrating  history  is  to  magnify 
persons  as  if  they  were  the  causes  of  prominent  events  in 
the  march  of  human  progress.  We  are  thus  led  to  con- 
nect great  movements  rather  with  illustrious  individuals 
than  with  the  great  principles,  which,  as  mankind  ripen  in 
Thought,  from  age  to  age,  come  from  the  Unseen,  and, 
with  the  force  of  an  electrical  current  and  the  sagacity  of 
magnetism,  find  homes,  in  various  degrees  of  adaptation, 
in  various  Minds,  who  become  the  mediums  through  whom 
the  new  “Word”  is  delivered  with  prophetic  fire  to  all 
men.  These  chosen  individuals  are  indeed  entitled  to 
our  reverence  ; for  they  are  the  incarnations  of  fresh  cur- 
rents of  divinity,  which  sweep  over  the  earth,  dispelling  the 
malaria  of  ignorance,  and  quickening  intellect  into  more 
active  movement.  While,  therefore,  we  extol  the  men 
through  whom  truth  is  manifested  with  new  and  more 
expansive  force,  we  should  regard  them  as  types  or  agents, 
gifted  with  special  powers  for  a special  purpose,  and  judge 
them  according  to  the  scale  of  those  powers,  and  the  meas- 
ure of  their  fulfilment. 


IDEAS  AND  INDIVIDUALS. 


98 


We  find  in  particular  ages,  confined  at  first  to  certain 
localities  or  races,  that,  as  old  forms  and  expressions  sink 
into  decrepitude,  having  exhausted  their  force  of  progres- 
sion, new  forms  and  expressions,  having  a likeness  to  the 
Past,  but  indicative  of  recuperated  energy  and  greater 
innate  power  of  expansion,  succeed  to  the  old,  gathering 
from  them  their  wheat,  and  creating  a fresh  intellectual 
and  moral  era,  in  whose  ordained  cycle  earth-life  moves 
grandly  on,  making  another  step  forward  in  its  eternal 
Pi  'ogress.  There  is  a seeming  mystery  in  this  strange 
organic  movement  of  mind,  apparently  so  capricious,  roll- 
ing nations  backwards  and  forwards  in  its  career,  crushing 
the  effete  Past,  with  its  errors,  into  the  dust,  to  enrich  the 
soil  of  a dimly  discerned  Future.  Amid  changes  and  dis- 
asters that  grieve  the  hearts  of  men,  and  puzzle  their 
brains  to  know  Wherefore,  providing  for  them  the  double 
necessity,  to  so  many  a sad  one,  of  living  and  working,  — 
death,  decay,  destruction,  being  the  ostensible  conditions  of 
advancement,  — indifferent  alike  to  the  ruin  of  empires  or 
the  piteous  wail  of  the  sons  of  Adam,  there  sits  that  grim, 
inexorable  Fate.  But  as  the  understanding  becomes  en- 
lightened, and  time  rolls  by,  we  see  it  assume  the  shape  of 
Law,  with  its  attendant  genii,  Love  and  Wisdom.  To 
mourn  for  departing  joy,  and  to  decry  that  which  mars 
our  present,  is  natural.  Conservatism  hankers  for  the 
past.  But  the  conservatism  of  to-day  was  the  dreaded 
innovation  of  yesterday.  We  must  sympathize  with  the 
loss  of  art,  habits,  and  beliefs  that  for  long  centuries  have 
been  the  familiar  joys  of  millions  of  fellow-beings,  though 
from  a more  elevated  mental  platform  we  perceive  that 
they  perish  solely  in  virtue  of  fulfilled  destiny ; their  spirit 
being  born  into  new  existences,  while  their  external  forms 
linger  amongst  us,  as  do  the  fossils  in  the  geological 


THE  NEW  TIDE- WAVE. 


9* 

world,  to  indicate  of  what  manner  and  shape  our  prede- 
cessors were. 

The  great  tide-wave  of  artistic  growth  now  to  be  de- 
scribed, which  succeeded  the  Theological  era  of  Latin  art, 
received  its  onward  impetus  from  the  reawakened  intellect- 
ual energies  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  reached  its  cli- 
max in  the  sixteenth.  It  gave  birth  to  more  superior  men, 
and  was  the  most  brilliant,  exalted,  and  prolific  period  of 
art,  of  any  period  since  the  corresponding  phase  of  history, 
in  the  turbulent  times  of  Grecian  democracies  and  tyran- 
nies, which  has  so  much  intellectual  and  social  analogy 
with  the  vigor  and  enterprise  of  mediaeval  Italy.  Both 
prove  that  a state  of  action,  however  changeable  and  peril- 
ous, is  one  of  growth.  Wars,  tumults,  factions,  and  con- 
spiracies, alternate  disaster  and  success,  great  commercial 
enterprises  and  deplorable  jealousies,  plagues  and  famines, 
characterized  the  times  of  Zeuxis,  Apelles,  and  Phidias 
quite  as  conspicuously  as  they  did  those  of  Giotto,  Ghi- 
berti, and  Michel  Angelo.  In  each,  thought  found  scope 
in  doing . Crimes  abounded  ; so  did  virtues.  There  was 
a prodigious  sifting  and  proving  of  men  and  things. 
Genius  and  talent,  for  good  and  evil,  like  volcanic  throes 
upheaved  society,  giving  it  fresh  forms  and  renewed  fertil- 
ity. Compared  with  the  theological  stagnation  that  in 
Italy  had  preceded,  and  the  political  tyranny  that  succeeded 
this  epoch,  each  equally  extinguishing  liberty,  the  one 
merging  the  individual  into  the  church,  and  the  other  into 
the  state,  drilled  inanities  both,  those  were  healthful  days 
for  humanity.  What  a harvest  of  art,  science,  and  reli- 
gion was  then  and  there  garnered  ! What  Men  ! ! What 
feeling  and  action  to  dignify  our  species  ! ! ! It  is  good  to 
ponder  over  those  days,  and  to  inquire  what  made  Greece 
and  Italy  so  great  and  prosperous ; to  trace  the  causes  of 


SCEPTICISM  PROMOTES  INQUIRY. 


95 


a civilization  so  fertile  in  that  which  men  most  covet,  ami 
so  suggestive  of  his  spiritual  destinies  that,  in  comparison, 
our  boasted  materialism,  comfort,  and  condition  of  uses 
seem,  in  one  sense,  meagre  and  profitless.  Selfishness 
abounds  in  all  times.  But  as  we  explore  the  art  which 
tempts  us  on,  we  shall  find  lofty  motive,  patriotic  pride 
and  expenditure  ; a rejoicing  in  that  which  exalts  the  soul 
in  preference  to  that  which  gratifies  the  body,  and  a gener- 
ous rivalry  in  nation  and  individual  for  its  advancement. 

In  this  moving  of  the  intellectual  waters,  productive  of 
Dante  and  Giotto,  we  must  not  overlook  the  service  to 
humanity  done  by  scepticism,  in  promoting  inquiry,  casting 
out  error,  and  disciplining  the  mind  to  reason.  The  feel- 
ing of  the  times  being  religious,  and  the  reaction  from 
superstitious  ignorance,  the  chief  direction  of  the  reawak- 
ened thought  was  metaphysical,  though  every  branch  of 
knowledge  gained  thereby.  Wherever  real  liberty  pre- 
vails, extremes  in  action,  speculation,  and  belief  arise. 
The  various  opinions  formed  of  this  period  vary  accord- 
ing to  the  mental  focus  of  those  who  pass  it  in  review ; 
some  seeing  only  demagogical  turbulence,  oligarchal  self- 
ishness, rank  atheism,  or  low  superstition  ; while  others 
view  it  as  pregnant  with  patriotism  and  devotion.  Each 
of  these  social  phases  is  true  of  it.  Then  Farinata  degli 
Uberti,  and  other  eminent  citizens  of  Florence,  went 
“ musing  about  the  streets,  busy  with  the  solution  of  that 
arduous  problem,  if,  peradventure,  it  should  be  satisfactorily 
made  out  that  God  was  not.”  Frederic  II.  and  his  high 
chancellor  were  charged  by  a pope  with  having  denounced 
those  “ three  notable  impostors,  Moses,  Christ,  and  Ma- 
homet, who  managed  successively  to  juggle  the  world.”  * 
On  the  other  hand,  numerous  ascetic  devotees  of  th* 

* See  Memoir  of  Fra  Dolcino  and  his  Times , by  L.  Mariotti,  p.  46. 


96 


GIOTTO  S O. 


type  of  Catherine  of  Siena  and  Francis  of  Assisi,  in- 
spired by  a religious  enthusiasm  which  overpowered  rea- 
son, performed  services  for  humanity  worthy  of  the  pro- 
foundest  respect,  despite  a fanaticism  sometimes  ridiculous 
in  degree,  or  unjust  to  the  individual.  But  although  this 
period  was  the  one  of  the  greatest  power  and  sanctity  of 
the  holy  orders,  things  profane  penetrated  even  into  their 
retreats.  St.  Bernard  complains  that  the  same  custom 
which  was  so  rife  in  the  scandalous  era  of  the  church, 
when  Pope  “ Paul  III.  believed  neither  in  God  nor  in 
any  article  of  religion,”  * that  of  painting  the  interiors  of 
convents  with  pagan  and  sensual  subjects,  was  prevalent 
then.  In  the  rude  art  of  his  times,  their  power  over  the 
senses  must,  however,  have  fallen  far  short  of  the  seductions 
of  Correggio,  Julio  Romano,  and  Titian,  against  whom, 
in  this  respect,  the  church  might  legitimately  complain. 

The  comprehensiveness  of  their  genius  is  a noteworthy 
feature  of  many  of  those  early  masters  whose  times  and 
works  are  now  about  to  be  considered.  Giotto  as  happily 
symbolized  the  entierty  of  his  mental  powers  as  he  illus- 
trated his  skill  of  pencil,  when,  in  reply  to  the  messenger 
of  Pope  Benedetto  IX.  sent  to  procure  specimens  of  the 
designs  of  the  best  artists  of  that  day,  he  simply  drew  a 
perfect  circle  upon  a piece  of  paper,  saying,  as  he  handed 
it  to  the  astonished  agent,  “ Here  is  your  drawing.”  “Am 
I to  have  nothing  but  this  I ” the  latter  asked.  To  which, 
resuming  the  work  which  had  been  interrupted,  Giotto 
quietly  replied,  “ That  is  more  than  enough.”  He  was 
right.  The  faultless  circle  so  promptly  extemporized 
passed  into  a proverb,  and  was  accepted  by  the  pope  as 
significant  of  his  range  of  acquirements,  completeness  of 
power,  and  his  centralized  individuality.  He  sent  for  him 
* Cellini’s  Memoirs,  p.  275. 


UNIVERSAL  GENIUS  OF  THE  GREAT  MASTERS.  97 


at  once  to  execute  the  important  works  he  contemplated 
at  Rome. 

Niccola  Pisano,  Giotto,  Orgagna,  Ghiberti,  Masaccio, 
Fra  Angelico,  Leonardo,  Raphael,  and  Michel  Angelo 
centred  in  themselves  epochs  and  styles  that,  through 
schools,  as  the  Nile  in  its  annual  rise  carries  fertility  along 
its  banks,  spread  themselves  far  and  wide  in  influences 
which  no  subsequent  genius  has  yet  wholly  superseded. 
They  generated  multitudes  of  distinguished  artists,  and  yet 
tower  above  them  all,  conspicuous  landmarks  of  civiliza- 
tion. While  later  artists  struggle  for  success  in  special- 
ties of  art,  content  to  be  prominent  in  one  department, 
they  labored  for  universal  skill  and  knowledge.  Hence 
the  greatest  among  them  were  eminent  not  only  as  sculp- 
tors or  painters,  but  as  architects  and  engineers,  and  ac- 
complished as  musicians  and  poets.  Excelling  in  fresco, 
their  hands  were  equally  trained  to  the  minute  perfection 
and  laborious  detail  of  miniature  painting,  and  illumination 
of  manuscripts.  They  are  correctly  termed  “ great  mas- 
ters,” for  each  united  in  himself  genius  and  success  rarely 
vouchsafed  to  one  person. 

There  was  a broad  sweep  to  their  minds,  characteristic 
of  an  age  that  discovered  and  conquered  new  worlds. 
They  were  habituated  to  grand  execution  based  upon  great 
conceptions.  Michel  Angelo,  in  his  predilection  for  “large- 
hearted  ” fresco,  was  half  right  in  his  contempt  for  oil- 
painting.  He  and  his  brethren  could  indeed  be  great  on 
panel  or  paper,  but  they  aspired  to  grandeur  in  material  as 
well  as  thought.  Who  can  fail  to  sympathize  with  the 
daring  wish  of  Domenico  Ghirlandajo  to  be  permitted  to 
paint  in  fresco  the  entire  walls  of  Florence  ] Such  men 
panted  for  space  and  freedom.  Happily,  the  public  com- 
prehended their  ambition.  Among  the  Latin  races,  artists 


98 


HOW  THE  PUBLIC  HONORED  THEM. 


then  were,  in  popular  estimation,  what  orators  and  gener- 
als are  now  among  us  Americans.  They  took  pride  in 
them,  honored  them,  understood  them  ; and  celebrated  the 
completion  of  great  works  as  public  festivities,  escorting 
them,  amid  crowds  of  all  ranks,  with  flowers,  music,  songs, 
and  sacred  chants,  to  their  destined  localities.  With  us, 
the  people  rush  to  hear  politics ; with  them,  they  hastened 
to  criticize  and  enjoy  art.  A fresh  painting  by  Duccio, 
Ghirlandajo,  Leonardo,  or  Raphael,  drew  as  full  houses, 
and  excited  as  much  enthusiasm  among  their  fellow-citi- 
zens, as  do  the  meretricious  notes  of  public  singers,  or  the 
lavish  display  of  graceful  limbs  of  dancing  women,  with 
the  men  of  to-day.  The  reception  given  to  either  class  is 
an  unimpeachable  witness  to  the  sentiment  of  the  times. 
They  lavished  high  art  upon  their  houses  of  worship ; we, 
such  as  we  possess,  upon  luxurious  resorts  for  eating, 
drinking,  and  making  merry.  With  them,  there  was  a 
lively  joy  in  art,  and  a deep,  underlying  religious  sentiment 
consecrated  to  its  noblest  works.  The  fabulous  sums  we 
expend  on  steamboats  and  railroads,  they  spent,  in  noble 
rivalry,  upon  architecture,  painting,  and  sculpture.  And 
be  it  remembered  that  the  peoples  of  Italy  were  more  gen- 
erous patrons  of  art  than  their  princes,  and  exacted  and 
obtained  nobler  work.  They  put  no  limits  to  the  designs 
and  expenditures  of  the  “ great  masters  ” other  than  that 
their  works  should  honor  religion,  and  ennoble  the  country. 
Cosmo,  the  most  politic  and  lavish  of  princes,  provoked 
Brunelleschi  to  burn  the  plan  of  his  palace,  from  vexation 
and  disappointment  at  its  rejection.  This,  too,  when  not 
long  before,  a single  guild  of  merchants  contributed  a 
sum  equal  to  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  for  one 
bronze  gate  to  a small  church,  and  the  citizens  built  the 
marvellous  bell-tower  of  their  Duomo  at  a cost  of  five 


MOTIVE  OF  MEDIAEVAL  ART. 


99 


million  dollars.  Some  conception  of  the  enormous  wealth 
of  Florence  may  be  had  from  the  fact  that  during-  the  life- 
time of  Masaccio  seventy  families  alone,  in  twenty-three 
years,  paid  five  million  golden  florins  in  taxes,  equal  to  fif- 
teen million  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  present  value 
of  money.  Labor  and  commerce  were  so  greatly  honored 
that  fathers  disinherited  sons  who  passed  a year  without 
working,  and  they  also  lost  their  rights  as  citizens,  and 
were  considered  as  nought  in  the  commonwealth.  When 
the  government  desired  to  punish  a family,  it  was  declared 
noble , and  without  political  rights.  Private  luxury  arid 
extravagance  were  restrained  by  sumptuary  laws ; but 
public  magnificence  and  hospitality  were  encouraged  by 
edicts,  and  the  temporary  suspension,  when  the  occasion 
demanded,  of  the  former.  In  short,  in  these  times,  Flor- 
ence was  a thoroughly  earnest,  democratic  commonwealth, 
the  political  life-blood  of  which  was  interpenetrated  with 
the  spirit  of  labor  and  trade ; thrifty  and  parsimonious  in 
private,  hut  lavish  beyond  modern  conception,  upon  art 
and  all  that  exalted  its  reputation  and  increased  its  glory.* 
The  motive  that  inspired  mediaeval  art  was  true  and 
noble.  It  not  only  created  profuse  adornment  for  public 
places  and  the  homes  of  the  citizens,  — a perpetual  joy 
and  intellectual  stimulant  to  every  beholder,  — hut  it  made 
virtue  and  faith  its  basis  of  thought  and  action.  What 
marvel  then  that  such  daily  meat  and  drink,  unstintedly 
set  forth  with  the  utmost  magnificence  of  material  and 
a constantly  increasing  skill  of  execution,  should  have 
been  prized,  and  the  feeling  that  incited  such  art  devoutly 
cherished,  by  all  classes;  for  it  was  something  that  equally 
delighted  the  individual  and  honored  the  nation.  And  the 

* For  other  curious  particulars  of  this  epoch,  see  Histoire  des  Sciences  Ma- 
thdmatiques,  par  G.  Libri.  Paris,  1838. 


100 


MAGNANIMOUS  RIVALRY. 


great  worth  of  art  in  all  ages  must  lie  in  its  being  free 
and  true.  Free  to  every  eye  as  an  ever-present,  living 
charm  and  instruction,  and  true  in  the  highest  sense,  be- 
cause of  its  affinity  to  the  pure  and  beautiful. 

Such  noble  art  as  was  born  to  Florence  could  ripen 
only  on  the  most  favorable  soil  and  genial  atmosphere. 
We  find,  therefore,  the  spirit  that  sustained  it  was  as 
liberal  as  it  was  lofty  in  conception.  The  citizens  de- 
manded Best  work,  without  giving  heed  to  local  preju- 
dices or  private  intrigues.  When  it  was  proposed  to 
raise  the  dome  of  the  cathedral,  orders  were  sent  to  the 
Florentine  merchants  residing  in  the  various  countries 
of  Europe  to  provide  u large  sums  of  money  ” for  send- 
ing to  Florence  u the  most  experienced  and  distinguished 
masters  ” to  discuss  the  project  and  furnish  designs ; the 
work  to  be  intrusted  to  him  who  gave  best  evidence  of 
capacity.  And  this  was  the  proposal  of  a Florentine  ar- 
chitect himself,  Brunelleschi,  who  subsequently  obtained 
the  commission,  his  plan  prevailing  over  those  of  all 
others  as  being  the  sole  one  demonstrated  to  be  equal 
to  that  gigantic  enterprise,  which  still  remains  without 
a rival  except  in  St.  Peter’s.  Such  work  was  then  done, 
not  as  later  in  the  boastful,  confident  spirit  of  egotis- 
tical science,  but  in  humble  reliance  upon  divine  aid, 
“ remembering  that  as  this  is  a temple  consecrated  to 
God  and  the  Virgin,  they  will  not  fail  to  infuse  knowl- 
edge where  it  is  now  wanting,  and  will  bestow  strength, 
wisdom,  and  genius  on  him  who  shall  be  the  author  of 
such  a project.” 

To  fully  appreciate  what  was  accomplished  in  one  city 
alone  of  Italy,  others  in  various  degrees  following  in  her 
steps,  we  must  carefully  consider  all  the  moral  causes 
of  their  triumphs  in  art.  Not  enjoyment  alone  is  to  be 


GENEROUS  SPIRIT  OF  OLD  MASTERS. 


101 


gained  from  the  “ old  masters,”  but  strength  and  courage 
to  battle  with  and  overcome  what  is  disheartening  or  mean. 
Their  faults  and  shortcomings  were  many,  for  they  were 
but  human  ; but  their  nobility  and  earnestness  of  soul,  in 
all  great  work,  stand  out  in  high  relief  for  the  encourage- 
ment and  example  of  all  times.  The  spirit  of  the  individ- 
ual was  in  generous  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  the  public. 
It  was  not  from  penuriousness  that  Gatta  fed  on  beans 
cooked  once  a week  to  save  him  time  and  thought,  but 
from  an  utter  renunciation  of  self  to  the  calls  of  art. 
Donatello,  like  Turner,  could  have  become  as  rich  as  he 
was  honored,  had  he  not  kept  his  gains  at  the  dispo- 
sition of  his  friends,  who  helped  themselves  from  his 
purse  without  “being  expected  to  say  anything  to  him ; ” 
and  he  left  Padua,  where  be  had  every  inducement  that 
honor  and  wealth  could  offer  to  keep  him,  to  return  to 
Florence  to  be  among  those  whose  criticisms  upon  his 
works  might  elevate  his  standard  of  taste ; for  he  feared 
the  uniform  praise  of  the  Paduans  would  prove  rather 
a source  of  weakness  than  strength  to  him.  Actuated 
by  a spirit  so  superior  to  sordid  gain  or  ephemeral  fame, 
we  are  not  surprised  to  find  both  him  and  Brunelleschi,  in 
their  mutual  competition  of  designs  for  the  bronze  doors  of 
the  Baptistery,  preferring  their  youthful  rival  Ghiberti  to 
themselves,  and  jointly  recommending  him  to  the  Signory, 
saying,  that  it  was  both  “ for  public  advantage  and  indi- 
vidual benefit  to  give  Ghiberti  the  opportunity  to  produce 
those  noble  fruits  of  which  his  beautiful  model  gave  so 
fair  a hope : ” a decision  more  honorable  to  their  names 
than  if  either  had  conducted  the  work  to  a successful 
issue,  and  which  will  cleave  to  their  memories  when  the 
door  itself  shall  have  passed  into  nothingness  by  the 
pitiless  action  of  time.  Work  thus  inspired  could  not 


102 


SPIRIT  OF*  THEIR  ART. 


fail  to  be  worthy  of  being-  visited  by  concourses  of  people, 
such  as  Vasari,*  writing  of  the  cartoons  of  Leonardo,  says 
“ one  sees  at  the  most  solemn  festivals.”  Mark  that  word 
“solemn.”  Nothing  frivolous  in  its  meaning  and  con- 
nection ; it  does  not  stand  for  amusement,  or  decoration, 
or  surface-work ; but  for  work  that  was  capable  of  ex- 
alting the  feelings  and  arousing  profound  thought.  And 
it  was  always  work  for  the  people.  They  sat  in  con- 
stant judgment  upon  it.  And  who  shall  gainsay  Leo- 
nardo in  his  assertion,  that  “ a painter  ought  not  to  dis- 
dain learning  from  the  humblest  source,”  for  “ although  a 
man  may  not  be  an  artist  he  may  have  just  notions  of 
forms  1 ”j*  Truth , truth,  from  the  mouths  of  babes  or 
prophets,  was  the  motto  of  such  men.  Only  those  may 

* The  preceding  quotations  are  from  his  Lives  of  the  several  artists, 
t The  following  anecdote  from  a daily  journal  is  to  the  point : — 

“A  few  mornings  ago,  as  I was  standing  admiring  — as  I confess  myself 
quite  fond  of  doing  — that  beautiful  deer-group  (‘The  Prairie/  a painting 
by  Beard,  of  Buffalo),  a tall,  unmistakable  western  man  came  up  behind  me, 
and  looked  over  my  shoulder.  I noticed  at  once  the  quick  stoppage  of  breath- 
ing which  always  follows  admiration ; but,  to  my  surprise,  the  stop  was  short, 
and  something  like  a laugh  quickly  succeeded.  Looking  up,  I saw  a yellow 
face  overspreading  with  a smile,  and  there  was  a decided  twinkle  in  the  eye. 

“ ‘ Pshaw/  said  he,  ‘ that’s  no  pictur’,  after  all.  That  a’n’t  no  fair  representa- 
tion.’ 

“ ‘ Why,’  said  I,  ‘ that  struck  me  as  being  a pretty  good  painting.’ 

“ ‘ Maybe  it’s  good  enough  for  a painting,’  said  the  western  man  ; ‘ I don’t 
say  anything  ag’in’  that ; but  there  never  was  no  scene  enacted  like  it.  Just 
look  at  that  tall  rice-grass  up  there,  and  the  fern-weeds  below  — who  ever  saw 
them  grow  together  ? Why,  the  one  grows  on  wet,  and  the  other  on  dry  land. 
But  that’s  pretty  wet  land/  he  continued ; ‘and  just  see  them  deer’s  feet ; how 
clean  they  be.  They  ought  to  be  mud  up  to  the  knees,  and  at  the  gait  they’re 
going  at,  they’d  be  spotted  with  mud  all  over.  1 tell  ye,  when  I went  to  that 
country  first,  the  men  skeered  me  sometimes  driving  their  wagons  on  to  a wet 
prairie,  but  they’d  tell  me  it  was  all  right;  and  sure  enough,  I would  find  a 
good  bottom  a foot  down.  And  the  next  thing  I know’d,  they  would  be  giv- 
ing a pretty  wide  berth  to  a place  that  looked  at  first  sight  exactly  like  the 
tother,  and  I soon  found  an  easy  way  to  tell  was  by  the  grasses.’ 

“ ‘ If  any  on  ye  know  that  painter  chap,’  said  the  unconsciously  keen  critic, 
as  he  prepared  to  move  off,  ‘jest  tell  him,  but  it’s  no  use,’  he  said,  lowering  his 
voice,  ‘ that’s  a good  enough  city  prairie.’  ” 


THE  LESSER  LIGHTS. 


103 


hope  to  attain  it  who  are  actuated  by  a kindred  spirit, 
void  of  covetousness,  envy,  and  intrigue,  pledged  to  their 
high  calling,  in  perfect  faith  and  love ; noble  of  soul  in 
that  which  makes  men  at  once  proud  and  humble,  gen- 
erous and  zealous,  conscious  of  the  divinity  within,  yet 
content  to  learn  as  little  children  ; willing,  as  one  says 
who  well  knew  the  requirements  of  proficiency,  “ to  en- 
dure heat  and  cold,  hunger  and  thirst,  discomfort  and 
privations  of  all  kinds,  watching  and  laboring  continu- 
ally.” 

Too  much  stress  must  not,  however,  be  laid  upon  a few 
names  as  the  moving*  causes  of  the  artistic  regeneration  of 
Italy.  Beside  the  greater  lights  there  were  hosts  of  lesser, 
all  over  the  land,  equally  sensitive  to  the  impulse  of  the 
great  mental  wave  that  was  swelling  higher  and  higher, 
and  gathering  momentum  on  the  ocean  of  thought.  Each 
contributed  some  special  excellence  or  idea.  Schools,  obe- 
dient to  local  influences,  alive  with  the  vigorous  individual- 
ism of  the  times,  everywhere  rose  into  existence.  The 
awakening  was  universal.  No  artists  need  be  cited  as 
miracles.  Certain  ones  partook  more  largely  than  others 
of  the  new-born  genius,  and  more  completely  and  more 
intensely  typified  its  action.  From  this  cause,  and  subse- 
quent good  fortune  of  biography  and  position,  their  reputa- 
tions have  as  it  were  engulfed  much  kindred  and  contem- 
poraneous work,  whose  authors  were  also  deserving  of 
remembrance.  Accordingly  it  has  happened  with  the  world 
at  large,  that  all  art  of  a certain  character  is  baptized  by  the 
name  of  its  most  prominent  or  distinguished  representative, 
who  thus  perpetuates  his  personal  influence  as  the  head  of 
a distinct  school,  apart  from  his  position  as  a leading  mem- 
ber of  the  great  national  school,  of  which  the  former  may 
be  classed  as  a variety.  The  schools  of  Masaccio  and 


104 


GENIUS  OF  ETRURIA. 


Fra  Angelico  varied  greatly,  though  each  formed  an  im- 
portant component  part  of  the  great  Florentine  school ; 
just  as  in  our  times  Turner  and  Millais,  although  so 
distinct  in  styles  and  influence,  are  both  classed  under 
the  common  head  of  the  great  modern  English  school  of 
painting.  In  Italy,  as  the  student  prosecutes  his  researches, 
he  is  constantly  discovering  new  differences  of  manner,  and, 
in  local  archives,  new  names,  now  forgotten  but  once  in 
repute.  Its  prolificness  in  this  respect  is  indeed  wonder- 
ful, Every  town,  nay,  almost  every  hamlet,  may  boast 
its  artist  — not  a mere  dauber  or  superficial  student, 
but  a man  endowed  with  skill  and  feeling'.  Amid  such 

o 

a repletion  of  wealth,  the  historian  can  only  quote  the 
best  known  names,  classifying  the  lesser  around  the 
greater. 

Still  another  fact  deserves  to  be  kept  in  view.  Although 
the  new  movement  so  thoroughly  eclipsed  that  art  which  was 
nourished  solely  of  Theology,  yet  the  influence  of  the  latter 
more  or  less  affected  its  style  and  character  for  a consider- 
able period  ; shorter  in  the  Florentine  schools,  and  lingering 
longer  with  the  Umbrian  and  Sienese,  and  not  wholly 
obsolete  even  as  late  as  Raphael,  in  whose  compositions  as 
well  as  in  those  of  several  of  his  contemporaries,  may  be 
detected  traces  of  Byzantine  influences. 

Etruria  proper,  comprising  Tuscany  and  portions  of  the 
adjacent  Roman  States,  was  the  central  point  of  the  Italian 
revival  of  art.  The  greatest  names  of  Italy  are  indige- 
nous to  this  confined  territory.  Among  them  we  find 
Dante,  Petrarch,  Boccaccio,  Galileo,  Giotto,  Brunelleschi, 
Ghiberti,  Masaccio,  Raphael,  Leonardo,  and  Michel  Angelo 
— a brilliant  host  unsurpassed  in  modern  Europe  among 
any  peoples.  This  extraordinary  awakening  of  intellect, 
after  a slumber  of  more  than  a decade  of  centuries,  is  re- 


TEMPERA  PAINTING. 


105 


markable  in  a geographical  and  psychological  aspect,  espe- 
cially in  the  strength  of  its  nationality,  which,  although  in- 
spired by  new  motives  in  its  art,  still  clung  tenaciously  to  the 
primary  characteristics  of  its  most  ancient  manifestations. 
These  were  highly  naturalistic  as  distinguished  from  the 
idealism  of  Greece,  and  not  as  in  the  Lombard  and  Venetian 
states  running  into  the  Oriental  taste  for  warm  coloring, 
nor  indulging,  as  did  their  neighbors  to  a certain  extent,  in 
Teutonic  hardness,  precision,  and  minuteness  of  detail.  But 
before  proceeding  to  the  artists  themselves,  it  will  facili- 
tate the  understanding  of  future  descriptions  to  briefly  ex- 
plain some  of  the  technical  processes  involved. 

Painting  in  tempera  derives  its  name  from  the  fact 
that  the  colors  are  “ tempered  ” with  a vehicle,  not  sim- 
ply oil  or  water,  but  some  glutinous  substance,  as  the 
yolk  of  stale  or  fresh  eggs,  milk,  gums,  etc.,  to  a con- 
sistence easy  of  application  . and  adherence.  Wine  was 
a common  diluent  for  the  viscid  mediums  of  tempera 
painting,  and  also  the  juice  of  the  fig-tree,  and  even  vin- 
egar and  oil  to  a limited  extent.  It  was  by  the  skill 
in  mixture  and  use  of  these  several  ingredients  that  the 
firm  surface  of  the  tempera  paintings  of  the  old  masters, 
capable  even  of  resisting  ordinary  solvents,  was  obtained. 
The  most  permanent  method  of  painting  was  the  encaus- 
tic, or  colors  prepared  with  wax  subjected  to  heat.  This 
was  the  Byzantine  process,  derived  from  remote  antiquity, 
and  valuable  for  its  resistance  to  the  effects  of  time  and 
atmosphere,  its  superior  gloss,  and  capacity  for  depth  and 
richness  of  colors.  The  chief  objection  to  it  is  its  shiny  sur- 
face ; a state  common  to  tempera  paintings  to  which  hard 
varnishes  have  been  applied.  Yet  without  some  medium 
of  this  character  it  is  difficult  to  adequately  protect  their 
delicate  surfaces,  and  bring  out  the  full  value  of  their  clear, 


106 


FRESCO  PAINTING. 


positive  hues.  Perhaps  glass  is  the  best  agent  for  the 
former  purpose.  Those  whose  taste  has  been  formed 
exclusively  by  the  superior  transparency,  luminousness, 
and  richness  of  oil  painting,  with  its  magical  illusions 
of  light  and  shade,  mysterious  melting  of  form  into  color, 
greater  capacity  of  imitation,  and  more  manageable  tones, 
have  at  first  small  relish  for  the  precision  of  outline,  gem- 
like hues,  and  intense,  full  light  of  its  ancient  rival,  es- 
pecially in  its  pristine  superabundance  of  gold  ornament, 
which,  unless  toned  by  age  or  local  effect,  reflects  the  light, 
and  by  its  intense  brilliancy  injures  the  general  harmony 
of  the  painting.  But  as  we  trace  the  progress  of  art,  we 
shall  find  that  tempera  and  fresco  painting  also  have  pecul- 
iar claims  upon  our  consideration  and  admiration. 

Fresco  painting  is  so  styled  from  the  colors  being  rap- 
idly laid  on  while  the  freshly  prepared  plaster  is  still  wet. 
The  fresco  painter  is  limited  to  those  colors  which  light 
and  lime  will  not  deteriorate.  These  are  natural  colors, 
or  earths  sober  in  hue ; blue  being  his  brightest  resource. 
He  has  not  the  same  compass  of  depth,  transparency,  fu- 
sion, gradation,  and  force  of  shadow  as  the  oil  painter ; but 
his  superiority  consists  in  his  breadth  of  execution,  brill- 
iancy of  light,  greater  facility  of  representing  large  com- 
positions under  equal  conditions  of  happy  effect,  avoiding 
the  confused  glare  or  reflection  of  extensive  oil  surfaces, 
and  of  in  general  an  unchangeableness,  a liveliness,  and 
naturalness  of  tone  and  expression  which  the  latter  does 
not  equal  on  a similar  scale. 

There  are  also  two  other  methods  of  wall-painting : 
seco,  or  with  colors  when  the  plaster  has  been  dried  and 
wetted  again,  and  in  distemper,  or  without  lime  on  a dry 
wall. 

Easel  pictures  and  altar-pieces  were  painted  on  wood, 


ALTAR-PIECES. 


107 


or  prepared  grounds  of  gesso  or  lime,  polished  to  the  hard- 
ness and  smoothness  of  marble.  Margaritone  and  some 
others  were  accustomed  to  cover  their  panels  with  a strong 
canvas  attached  to  them  by  glue. 

The  ancients  were  unacquainted  with  oil  painting.  Can- 
vas was  first  used,  so  far  as  we  know,  in  the  time  of  Nero.* 
Gold  backgrounds  and  lavish  ornamentation  were  legacies 
of  the  Latin  and  Byzantine  schools.  These  were  varied 
and  enriched  by  the  later  masters,  some  of  whom  indulged 
in  golden  draperies  and  other  accessories  in  relief.  While 
such  a taste  lasted,  there  could  be  no  proper  landscape. 
This  was  in  general  merely  suggested,  after  a most 
conventional  manner ; one  aim  of  the  artists  being  to 
exalt  and  adorn  their  sacred  personages  by  beauty  and 
value  of  material,  which  *with  them  had  a symbolic 
meaning. 

The  practice  of  writing  names  and  sentences  upon  pic- 
tures, sometimes  making  words  to  issue  from  the  mouths 
of  their  figures,  was  derived  from  remote  classical  antiq- 
uity. Gothic  letters  came  into  vogue  about  a.  d.  1200, 
and  were  in  fashion  until  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, when  Roman  characters  were  again  used.  Inscrip- 
tions were  most  abundant  among  the  Byzantine  and  Latin 
artists,  who  never  thought  it  expedient  to  leave  any  room 
for  doubt  as  to  their  topics. 

Pictures  on  wood  intended  for  altar-pieces  were  made  up 
after  elaborate  architectural  designs,  corresponding  to  their 
intended  localities,  and  having  a general  resemblance  to 
the  fagades  of  Gothic  cathedrals.  The  preparation  of  the 


* Those  who  are  curious  in  the  technicalities  of  art  will  find  imjch  informa- 
tion about  ancient  and  modern  methods  in  Cennino  Cennini’s  Trattcito  della 
Pittura,  MS.  1437,  and  Painting  Popularly  Explained,  London,  1859,  a useful 
treatise  by  Messrs.  Gulick  and  Timbs,  F.  S.  A. 


108 


ALTAR-PIECES. 


wood  for  the  painter  was  the  specialty  of  artisans  who 
took  rank  with  the  artists  themselves.  These  carvers 
and  gilders  were  so  proud  of  their  skill  as  often  to  in- 
cribe  their  names  upon  their  work  before  those  of  the 
painter. # On  account  of  the  great  size  of  the  pictures 
intended  for  public  places  they  were  built  up  in  distinct 
parts,  nicely  fitted  to  each  other,  separated  and  supported 
by  twisted  columns,  and  each  end  strengthened  by  a sort  of 
buttress,  divided  into  various  stories,  all  being  arranged 
for  architectural  effect.  Smaller  pictures,  generally  of 
single  saints,  were  let  into  these  buttresses  on  their  sev- 
eral sides,  in  the  shape  of  pointed  windows,  while  above 
the  main  body  of  the  altar-piece  were  introduced  circular 
paintings  — generally  of  the  Annunciation,  Christ,  or  the 
Almighty  — answering  to  wheel  windows,  or  separate 
tabernacles  having  more  elaborate  compositions,  with 
pointed  arch,  turret,  scroll,  and  spire,  giving  to  the  en- 
tire picture  an  impressive  monumental  look ; and  which 
was  further  enriched  by  a great  variety  of  ornamental 
details  in  gilded  relief.  Beneath  all,  in  large  characters, 
were  inscribed  the  names  of  the  saints  or  artists,  and 
the  date  of  its  completion,  to  which  on  either  wing 
were  added  the  arms  of  the  male  and  female  branches  of 
the  family  that  ordered  it.  It  was  also  common  to  intro- 
duce their  portraits,  at  first  simply  kneeling  in  devotion  in 
their  proper  costume,  but  subsequently  in  the  persons  of 
the  sacred  personages  who  figured  in  the  composition. 
But  the  picture  was  incomplete  without  a “ gradino  ” or 
“ predella,”  as  the  step  or  platform  on  which  it  was  sup- 
ported was  called,  the  panels  of  which  being  painted  in 
small  size  with  the  sacred  histories,  martyrdoms,  or  what- 


* Lanzi,  vol.  i.  p.  56,  Bohn,  London. 


FRAMES. 


109 


ever  subjects  were  related  to  the  main  composition.  As 
this  was  nearly  on  the  level  of  the  eye  of  the  spectator, 
the  artist  was  incited  to  display  upon  it  his  greatest  skid 
in  fine  detail.  It  is  rare  now  to  find  a complete  altar- 
piece  of  this  character ; in  most  examples  the  “ gradino,” 
and  top-pieces,  having  been  abstracted  or  ruined. 

This  style  of  pictorial  Gothic  architecture  continued  in 
fashion  until  the  influence  of  revived  classical  art  intro- 
duced for  the  framework  of  pictures,  horizontal  lines  and 
right  angles,  instead  of  perpendicular  and  acute.  But- 
tresses, columns,  and  spires  were  superseded  by  pilasters, 
capitals,  and  heavy  cornices,  or  other  accessories  borrowed 
from  the  style  of  architecture  of  the  day.  Grotesques,  in 
gilt  low  or  half  relief ; arabesques,  heavy  borders,  and  de- 
signs, imitated  from  the  antique  and  foreign  to  Christian 
sentiment,  sometimes  on  blue  grounds,  became  the  favorite 
style  of  ornament  for  frames,  which  in  Italy  have  always 
been  an  object  of  artistic  consideration  second  only  to  the 
pictures  themselves ; in  many  cases  the  greatest  artists  de- 
signing them  for  their  own  works.  Ghirlandajo  and  his 
school  carried  this  classical  innovation  of  designs  for  the 
adornment  of  frames  still  further,  venturing  to  adopt  the 
same  principle  for  the  ornamental  accessories  of  their  pic- 
tures, filling  them  with  beautifully  executed  details  of  ar- 
chitecture, figures  in  chiaroscuro,  or  richly  gilt  and  colored 
projection,  and  other  fancies  chiefly  drawn  from  pagan 
sources.  Others,  with  the  same  taste  for  varied  ornament, 
more  consistently  drew  their  emblematic  designs  from 
Christian  thought ; adorning  picture  or  frame,  without  par- 
ticular reference  to  the  subject  of  tbeir  compositions,  with 
seraphs  and  cherubs,  angels  or  flowers,  in  preference  to 
the  satyrs,  fauns,  and  kindred  conceptions  of  the  heathen 


110 


FRAMES. 


mind.  Whenever  time  has  spared  the  original  settings  of 
the  pictures  of  the  golden  periods  of  Italian  art,  we  find 
them  elaborated  to  a degree  of  richness  that  surprises 
modern  taste,  not  unfrequently  exceeding  the  first  cost  of 
the  painting  itself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


The  prevailing  Style  of  Painting  in  the  Thirteenth  Century.  The  Artists  that 
illustrated  it.  Giovanni,  960.  Petrolino,  1110.  Berlinghieri,  of  Lucca, 
1235.  Bastard  Byzantine  style.  Genuine  do.  Native  Italian  School.  Ex- 
amples of  each.  Giunta  da  Pisa,  1202-1255.  Margaritone,  of  Arezzo, 
1236-1313.  The  transition  Painters.  Diotisalvi,  1227-1250,  Ugolino,  1280- 
1339,  and  Guido,  1220,  of  Siena.  Tafi,  1213-1291,  and  Gaddo  Gaddi,  1289- 
1312,  of  Florence.  The  Italianized  Greek  Artists  and  School.  Apollonius. 
Duccio,  of  Buoninsegna,  1282-1339.  Cimabue,  1240-1302.  The  new  Re- 
lation of  the  Church  to  Art.  Plan  of  Analysis. 

At  the  dawn  of  the  thirteenth  century  a mixed  Latin  and 
Byzantine  style,  in  general  exceedingly  rude  and  barbarous, 
was  the  prevailing  fashion  of  painting  in  Italy.  Conse- 
crated, however,  by  religious  authority  and  antiquity,  it  had 
a deep  hold  in  the  veneration  of  the  people.  Pictures 
partook  of  the  coarse  features  of  the  mosaics  of  this  period ; 
hard,  heavy  outlines,  bold  features,  shadowless,  and  without 
projection  or  perspective.  The  earliest  names  that  have 
reached  us  of  the  Italian  school,  are,  one  Giovanni,  re- 
nowned, as  art  then  was,  in  the  year  960,  and  Petrolino, 
who  flourished  in  1110,  and  painted  frescoes,  of  which  re- 
mains still  exist  in  the  church  of  St.  Qautri  Coronati  at 
Rome,  in  company  with  Guido  Guiduccio.  Eraclius,  a 
Roman  painter,  who  wrote  a treatise  on  art  in  the  tenth 
or  eleventh  century,  is  also  mentioned.  Besides  these  we 
have  Berlinghieri,  of  Lucca,  1235,  of  whose  attenuated, 
graceless  style,  a few  specimens  still  exist.  No  doubt  other 
names  might  be  disinterred  from  the  antiquarianism  of  art, 


11& 


BASTARD  BYZANTINE  ART. 


but  they  would  give  no  clue  to  any  better  work  prevailing 
than  the  standard  illustrated  by  the  above  artists,  which  was 
as  meagre  as  could  be.  They  show,  however,  that  art  of 
some  kind  or  other  was  always  in  vogue  and  also  had  its 
literature. 

Equally  common,  and  quite  distinct  from  the  above,  was 
the  bastard  Byzantine  manner,  overladen  with  golden  orna- 
ment, rigid  and  angular  in  drapery,  crude  in  design,  and 
gaudy  in  color,  with  nothing  either  in  sentiment  or  execution 
to  recommend  it,  yet  very  popular,  and  indicative  of  the 
utter  want  of  aesthetic  feeling  in  the  people  at  large.  One 
example  of  this  art  is  a specimen  of  the  whole,  for  they 
were  all  manufactured  after  one  rule  and  motive.  The 
best  Byzantine,  however,  was  not  without  traces  of  the 
traditions  of  old  Greek  art  in  its  fulness  of  contours, 
largeness  and  grace  of  outline,  amplitude  of  drapery,  and 
judicious  use  of  ornament;  its  roundness  of  forms  con- 
trasting favorably  with  the  Latin  meagreness  of  design, 
and  absence  of  symmetry  or  proportion.  Evidently,  the 
ancient  ideal  had  never  wholly  forsaken  the  art  of  Greece, 
although  moulded  into  novel  compositions  by  the  peculiar 
mysticism  that  then  ruled  art.  The  Byzantine  triptych  of 
the  twelfth  century  (pi.  A,  fig.  1)  is  one  of  the  finest  speci- 
mens of  this  type  of  painting  that  we  know.  The  faces 
have  much  beauty,  and  the  movements  are  vigorous  and  not 
ungraceful,  especially  the  central  portion,  in  which  Christ 
is  seen  in  Hades,  surrounded  by  the  patriarchs  and  proph- 
ets, taking  Adam  and  Eve  by  the  hand,  while  Satan, 
breathing  fire,  has  been  cast  into  the  bottomless  pit,  and 
the  keys  of  hell  thrown  after  him. 

The  “ Transfiguration”  given  in  the  right  wing  is  highly 
dramatic  in  action  and  mystic  in  motive.  Christ,  a digni- 
fied, grand  figure,  surrounded  by  an  aureola  from  which 


' 


/ 


. 

. 


- 


A 


BEST  BYZANTINE  ART. 


113 


dart  triune  rays,  the  two  signifying  eternity  and  trinity, 
appears  with  Moses  and  Elias  in  a 66  bright  cloud,”  which 
66  overshadows”  Peter,  James,  and  John.  The  mysterious 
voice  they  have  just  heard,  saying  u This  is  my  beloved 
Son — hear  ye  him,”  has  made  them  “ sore  afraid,”  and 
they  literally  “ fall  on  their  faces,”  as  reads  the  Scripture. 
Two  of  them  in  the  sudden  violence  of  their  movements, 
have  thrown  off  their  sandals.  Their  faces  admirably 
express  the  conflicting  emotions  of  awe,  fear,  and  faith, 
which  have  taken  possession  of  them.  Although  so  mi- 
nute in  size,  the  artist  has  succeeded  in  giving  these  paint- 
ings the  force  of  large  compositions,  introducing  a natural- 
ness, animation,  and  variety,  especially  in  the  movements 
and  the  expression  of  emotions,  rarely  to  be  found  in  the 
paintings  of  this  school,  at  the  same  time  bestowing  upon 
them  a fineness  of  finish  and  delicacy  of  touch,  that  rival 
the  best  efforts  of  the  Italian  miniaturists  of  the  school  of 
Fra  Angelico. 

Of  equal  beauty  with  this  specimen,  though  not  of  as 
fine  execution,  is  pi.  B,  fig,  I,  a mystical  painting,  repre- 
senting the  apotheosis  of  the  Virgin  and  the  triumph  of 
Christianity.  Christ  and  Mary  — the  mother  adoring*  the 
son — are  surrounded  by  angels  and  the  mystical  powers  of 
heaven,  glorifying  Him,  who  carries  in  his  hand  the  sym- 
bol of  the  beginning  and  end  of  all  things.  Above  is  a 
separate  picture  representing  the  triumph  of  the  new  and 
the  passing  away  of  the  old  dispensation,  the  baptism  of 
water  succeeding  the  sacrifice  by  fire.  This  picture  is  re- 
markable for  the  elevated  character  of  its  heads,  that  of 
Christ  being  the  primitive  Byzantine  ideal,  the  full  contours 
of  the  drapery 5 and  its  pale  coloring,  which  tone  descended 

to  the  Giotteschi  for  a time.  It  is  supposed  to  date  from 

8 


114 


GIUNTA  DA  PISA. 


1190  to  1210*  and  shows  conclusively  that  Cimabue  and 
his  contemporaries  were  not  without  other  favorable  exam- 
ples for  their  instruction,  beside  those  frescoes  done  by  the 
same  class  of  Italianized  Greek  artists  in  the  lower  clois- 
ters of  Santa  Maria  Novella  at  Florence,  and  which  served 
as  a school  for  the  incipient  native  talent  of  that  time. 

The  contrast  between  this  painting  and  that  of  Giunta 
da  Pisa  (pi.  A,  fig.  3)  is  very  marked.  Giunta  lived  be- 
tween 1202  and  1255 , but  borrowed  no  inspiration  from 
pure  Byzantine  art.  He  is  emphatically  Etruscan  in  feel- 
ing, dramatic,  with  a vigorous  tone  of  color  and  design, 
very  rude  in  both,  and  while  adhering,  in  a slight  use  of 
gold  in  his  draperies,  to  the  degenerated  Byzantine  style, 
yet  quite  emancipated  from  it  in  more  important  respects. 
In  his  type  of  Christ  he  adheres  to  the  authority  of  St. 
Cyril  and  other  eminent  fathers  of  the  Church,  who  main- 
tained that,  according  to  the  Psalms,  the  Saviour  was  the 
least  comely  of  men,  and  should  be  so  represented  by  art. 
Other  ecclesiastical  writers  of  equal  weight  of  opinion  had, 
however,  sustained  the  contrary,  that  Christ  should  be 
made  as  beautiful  as  possible.  And  the  earliest  represen- 
tations of  the  Saviour  evidently  aim  at  an  ideal  type  of 
manly  beauty  and  spiritualized  expression  of  features.  Of 
such  an  ideal  character  are  the  forms  of  the  Saviour  given 
in  the  Byzantine  paintings  before  described,  while  in  this 
of  Giunta  and  the  ordinary  Italian  type  of  this  period 
there  seems  to  be,  beside  the  unavoidable  effects  of  igno- 
rance of  design,  a desire  to  render  the  person  of  the  Re- 
deemer as  ungainly  and  repulsive  as  possible ; that  being 
in  literal  correspondence  with  the  texts  of  Scripture  which 
prophesy  the  advent  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows. 


* See  engraving  and  description,  vol.  xiii.  pi.  1500,  Fumigalli’s  Museo  di 
Pittura,  &c.  Florence,  1841. 


\ 


MARGARITONE  OF  AREZZO. 


115 


The  common  Italian  standard  of  painting'  and  composi- 
tion of  this  epoch  is  graphically  represented  in  pi.  A,  fig. 

an  altar-piece  by  Margaritone,  of  Arezzo,  (1^36— 1313.) 
He  is  the  real  starting-point  of  the  mediaeval  schools  of 
Italy  in  painting,  embodying  the  peculiarities  of  design, 
coloring,  and  motive  which  rendered  it  so  stationary  and 
unprofitable.  His  picture  is  a veritable  curiosity,  and  yet 
not  without  some  merit  in  the  smaller  figures,  when  com- 
pared with  the  work  of  those  painters  by  whom  he  was 
accounted  a “ master.”  Margaritone  was  a conservative 
in  art,  and  so  became  disgusted  with  the  progress  mani- 
fested by  youthful  rivals,  which  he  had  neither  the  cour- 
age nor  talent  to  follow.  Yet  as  an  architect  and  sculptor 
he  showed  evidence  of  a better  spirit,  manifesting  in  both 
the  rising  influence  of  Niccola  Pisano.  With  him  closed 
the  period  of  utter  decadence  of  painting,  and  we  may 
view  him  with  the  more  curiosity  and  sympathy  from  the 
consciousness  that  the  world  will  never  look  upon  his  like 
again. 

We  now  pass  on  to  the  transition  period  preparatory  to 
Giotto.  A number  of  artists  appear,  partaking  of  the  new- 
born influences  of  progress,  and  still  clinging  in  many  de- 
tails and  motives  to  preceding  examples.  Each  of  them, 
in  greater  or  less  degree,  adhered  to  the  profuse  use  of  gold 
in  draperies,  stiff,  angular  folds,  and  general  characteristics 
of  the  Byzantine  style;  and  while  arriving  at  greater  dignity 
and  grander  expression,  although  evincing  a technical  educa- 
tion based  on  that,  they  ennobled  art  by  the  loftier  inspira- 
tions of  their  own  minds.  In  details,  some  of  these  artists 
equalled  Giotto.  Indeed,  in  their  best  Madonnas,  there 
is  a prophetic  largeness  of  soul  that  shows  how  deeply  the 
divine  conception  of  her  character  had  penetrated  their 
hearts.  They  paint  for  us,  not  nursing  mothers,  but  ab- 


116 


DUCCIO. 


solute  Queens  of  Heaven,  exalted  by  a holiness  freely 
vouchsafed  by  the  power  of  the  Son. 

Of  this  class  of  artists  we  find  examples  in  Diotisalvi, 
(1227—1250,)  Guido,  (about  1221,)  and  Ugolino,  (1280— 
1339,)  of  Siena,  and  Andrea  Tafi,  (1213-1291,)  and 
Gaddo  Gaddi,  (1239— 1312,)  of  Florence.  Tafi  was  a 
mosaicist,  and  was  taught  his  art  by  the  Byzantine  artists 
then  employed  in  decorating  the  church  of  San  Marco  at 
Venice,  one  of  whom,  Apollonius,  was  persuaded  to  return 
with  him  to  Florence,  where  the  two  executed  those  rude 
but  forcible  mosaics  still  in  perfect  condition  on  the  dome 
of  the  Baptistery.  Gaddo  Gaddi,  the  progenitor  of  the 
distinguished  family  of  that  name,  became  his  pupil,  and 
has  left  us  specimens  of  his  skill  in  the  Duomo.  Of  their 
paintings  there  is  now  no  trace.  Guido  and  Ugolino  may 
be  ranked  as  superior  to  them  in  grace  and  expression. 
But  greater  than  all,  equal  in  execution  to  Giotto,  more 
intensely  imbued  with  the  religious  sentiment,  a truly  great 
master,  was  Duccio  of  Buoninsegna,  (1282— 1339.)  His 
masterpiece,  a picture  of  numerous  compositions,  hangs  in 
a dim  light  in  the  Duomo  of  Siena.  But  few  of  his  works 
have  survived,  and  away  from  Siena  we  have  hut  small  op- 
portunity to  judge  of  his  merits.  The  group  (pi.  C,  fig.  9) 
taken  from  a diptych  gives  some  idea  of  his  characteris- 
tics, for  it  was  in  small  compositions  that  he  excelled.  It 
has  carefully-drawn  extremities,  symmetrical  figures,  sim- 
ple adjustment  of  draperies,  strong  coloring,  the  Byzantine 
taste  of  adornment,  great  feeling,  and  a dramatic  action, 
indicative  of  original  conception.  Like  Giotto  he  borrows 
no  thought  from  others,  hut  invests  his  scenes  with  a force 
and  variety  peculiarly  his  own.  On  the  right  of  the  pic- 
ture is  the  Virgin  fainting  at  the  sight  of  her  crucified  son. 
She  is  upheld  by  attendant  women,  whose  grief  is  admirably 


DUCCIO. 


117 


expressed,  without  running  into  the  usual  caricature  of  the 
period.  Some  with  clasped  hands  and  agonized  features 
watch  her  sinking  form,  so  absorbed  in  the  sorrow  of  the 
mother  as  seemingly  to  forget  the  torture  of  the  Saviour. 
By  a sentiment  as  touching  as  rare,  indicative  of  the  con- 
sciousness on  the  part  of  these  faithful  women  of  the  true 
character  of  Jesus  and  the  intent  of  his  cruel  death,  others 
are  made  to  appeal  to  Him  with  uplifted  hands  and  eager 
looks,  to  save  arid  protect  Her  in  this  dark  hour ; they  feel 
that  himself  \ at  any  moment,  he  may  save,  by  calling  upon 
the  angels  of  the  Father.  44  Thy  will  be  done  ” has  pen- 
etrated their  hearts.  Christ  voluntarily  drains  the  cup,  but 
why  may  not  the  mother  be  spared ! Such  is  the  meaning 
of  this  simple  composition,  which,  small  as  it  is,  embraces 
more  true  and  varied  feeling,  better  action,  and  a deeper  re- 
ligious sentiment  than  we  find  in  the  later  treatment  of  this 
subject  by  many  of  the  great  masters  of  design. 

In  the  picture  itself,  angels  hover  about  the  cross,  catch- 
ing, in  golden  chalices,  the  precious  blood  that  flows  from 
the  wounds  of  the  Saviour.  The  Roman  soldiery  watch  the' 
unusual  spectacle  with  mingled  sympathy  and  curiosity. 
One  of  them  turns  astonished  and  reproachfully  to  the  cen- 
turion Longinus  — the  nimbus  showing  that  the  Church  has 
made  him  a saint — who,  carried  away  by  44  those  things  that 
were  done,”  is  represented  as  exclaiming  44  Truly  this  was 
the  Son  of  God.”  In  the  companion  picture,  the  Madonna, 
a figure  of  much  dignity,  sits  enthroned,  surrounded  by 
angels  worshipping  the  infant  Jesus,  who  stands  in  her  lap. 
Their  attitudes  and  expressions  are  unspeakably  devout. 

Duccio’s  remarkable  power  rests  not  only  in  his  being 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  his  subject,  but  also  in 
his  capacity  of  bestowing  individual  character,  and  present- 
ing both  in  a poetical,  harmonious  whole.  His  influence  and 


118 


C1MABUE. 


fame  were,  however,  strictly  local,  which  is  the  more  sin- 
gular when  it  is  considered  what  a widely  extended  rep- 
utation some  of  the  Giotteschi  secured,  whose  invention, 
feeling  for  beauty,  and  depth  and  delicacy  of  sentiment 
were  so  greatly  inferior  to  his.  If  he  painted  frescoes, 
which  were  the  true  medium  of  fame,  none  have  been 
recorded,  and  this  may  account  for  his  comparative  obscu- 
rity, notwithstanding  the  great  merit  of  his  small  com- 
positions. 

Byzantine  influences  and  execution  are  traceable  much 
later  than  the  above  artists,  yet  as  they  became  so  overpow- 
ered by  fresher  motives  and  more  vigorous  execution,  we 
may  with  Cimabue  consider  the  transition  period  at  an  end. 
This  artist,  whose  name  is  a byword  to  mark  a specific 
epoch  in  art,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  but  one  of  many  to 
inaugurate  its  new  phase.  He  was  born  at  Florence  in 
1^40,  and  died  in  1302.  His  emancipation,  in  a technical 
point  of  view,  from  the  trammels  of  previous  art  was  but 
gradual,  as  will  be  noticed  by  his  large  altar-piece  in  the 
Florentine  Academy,  which  evinces  crude  design,  Byzan- 
tine ornamentation,  and  weak  color,  yet  withal  has  a certain 
grandeur  of  expression,  without  any  feeling  for  beauty. 
Cimabue,  however,  ultimately  developed  an  independent 
style,  improved  draperies,  grouped  his  figures  with  an- 
imation and  vigor,  and  in  his  best  work  was  solemn 
and  dignified.  The  celebrated  Madonna  of  Santa  Maria 
Novella,  at  Florence,  is  the  most  favorable  example  of  his 
best  manner  now  extant.  Even  in  this,  we  perceive  that  he 
never  attained  any  skill  in  perspective  or  foreshortening, 
and  chiaroscuro  was  wholly  unknown  to  him.  Still  there  is  a 
grandeur  about  him  that  savors  of  Michel  Angelo.  His 
heads  have  a deep,  earnest  character,  and  are  fairly  individ- 
ualized, while  his  smaller  figures,  often  sadly  out  of  draw- 


CIMABUE. 


119 


ing  in  height  and  proportions,  are  done  with  much  finish 
and  expression.  Like  almost  all  the  early  masters,  he 
found  it  difficult  to  treat  hands  and  feet,  which  are  seldom 
good  even  in  Giotto,  and  in  Cimabue  are  stiff’  or  atten- 
uated to  a ludicrous  degree.*  In  the  infancy  of  design, 
the  extremities  from  their  rigidity  might  be  supposed  to 
he  all  bone ; in  the  decadence,  with  that  class  of  painters 
represented  by  Empoli,  Bilivert,  and  the  scholars  of  Carlo 
Dolce,  hands  became  mere  flabby  masses,  without  bone, 
though  well  colored.  When  the  subject  admitted  it,  the 
old  painters  were  glad  to  hide  extremities  by  drapery,  in 
which  they  had  more  strength.  Cimabue  was  so  proud  and 
sensitive  that  he  often  destroyed  his  pictures  when  faults 
were  detected  in  them.  We  may  smile  and  wonder  how 
any  escaped.  But  in  judging  of  the  past,  we  should  not 
look  back  upon  it  from  our  point  of  view,  but  forward  to  it 
from  its  past,  and  so  detect  its  progress. 

Cimabue,  in  conjunction  with  Arnolfo  Lapi,  was  one  of 
the  architects  of  the  Duomo.  But  his  name  is  chiefly 
associated  with  his  two  immortal  pupils.  One  of  these  in 
painting  was  Dante,  who  is  said  to  have  drawn  well. 
Boccaccio  confirms  this,  and  the  poet  himself,  in  his  “ Vita 
Nuova,”  alludes  to  it.  “ Quale  ricordandomi  di  lei  dise- 
gnava  un  angelo  sopra  certe  tavola.”  “ Whiles  I thought 
of  her  (Beatrice)  I drew  an  angel.”  What  would  not  the 
world  give  to  have  now  in  its  possession  an  angel  painted 
by  Dante,  inspired  by  his  vision  of  the  celestial  Beatrice  ! 

But  Cimabue’s  chief  claim  upon  posterity,  lies  in  his 
prophetic  insight  into  the  genius  of  the  poverty-stricken 
shepherd  boy,  whom  he  found  on  a wild  hill-side,  drawing 
a spirited  sketch  of  one  of  his  sheep  on  a stone,  with  some 
rough  object  snatched  from  mother-earth.  This  seem- 
* See  pi.  C,  fig.  10,  St.  John. 


120 


DOMINICANS,  PATRONS  OF  ART. 


ingly  accidental  discovery  revealed  to  him  the  future 
Master.  At  once  he  rescued  him  from  tending  brutes  to 
the  high  office  of  teaching  men.  All  thanks  for  this, 
Giovanni  Cimabue  ! a noble  by  birth  ; nobler  by  art ; and 
noblest  by  his  perception  ! 

If  art  had  heretofore  owed  much  of  its  degradation  to 
the  unwise  restrictions  of  theology,  it  now  entered  upon  a 
period  of  progress  sustained  and  encouraged  by  the  Church, 
which  itself  partook  of  the  new-born  liberty  of  thought, 
and  from  its  law-giver  became  its  patron.  Indeed  she, 
herself,  furnished  many  distinguished  names  to  the  profes- 
sion. The  Dominicans  particularly  were  foremost  in  art, 
especially  in  architecture  and  painting,  as  the  Benedictines 
were  in  literature.  In  every  age  of  the  world,  Pagan  or 
Christian,  the  master-works  of  art  have  sprung  from  reli- 
gious inspiration.  Phidias,  Zeuxis,  Giotto,  Leonardo,  Ra- 
phael, Michel  Angelo,  and  even  Titian  confirm  this  fact. 
Nor  can  it  ever  be  otherwise,  for  religion  includes  all 
that  is  noblest  in  humanity  on  earth  and  most  glorious  in 
its  future.  Hence  at  the  period  we  are  now  about  to  ex- 
plore, the  religious  feeling  being  both  comparatively  free 
and  active,  art  gave  itself  willingly  to  its  inspiration. 
Among  the  numberless  examples  which  could  be  cited  to 
show  its  prolificness,  created  by  the  demands  of  the  Church 
alone,  that  of  the  cathedral  of  Chartres  will  suffice.  It 
was  adorned  with  more  than  nine  thousand  painted  and 
carved  figures,  giving,  in  chronological  series,  the  biblical 
histories  from  the  creation  to  the  end  of  the  world.  In 
all  epochs  some  degree  of  dictation  is  felt  by  art.  If  not 
religious,  it  springs  from  fashion,  caprice,  ambition,  or 
vanity  ; any  or  all  of  the  fountains  of  human  weakness. 
But  it  is  simple  justice  now  to  record,  that  at  no  former 
period  had  art  been  more  free  to  follow  its  native  im- 


PLAN  OF  ANALYSIS. 


121 


pulses,  and  under  purer  inspirations,  than  at  that  which  now 
awaits  us. 

The  controlling  principle  of  art  being  still  in  religion, 
the  plan  of  analysis  will  be  to  trace  its  varied  elements 
through  its  leading  minds,  grouping  them  according  to 
their  specific  characteristics,  confining  ourselves  almost 
entirely  to  Etruscan  ground.  The  Umbrian,  Sienese,  and 
Florentine  schools,  with  their  offshoots,  have  a family  like- 
ness. Whether  an  artist  be  of  Cortona,  Pisa,  Volterra, 
Citta  della  Pieve,  or  other  of  the  numerous  cities  that  cover 
this  classical  soil,  he  interblends  with  the  national  proclivi- 
ties, easily  finding  a congenial  home  in  any  portion  of  this 
territory.  Many  great  artists  were  not,  by  birth,  of  the 
cities  to  which  their  fame  is  now  inseparably  attached,  and 
whose  schools  they  founded.  In  an  age  when  towns  a 
few  miles  apart  mutually  held  each  other  to  be  foreigners 
and  enemies,  artists  enjoyed  a common  home  everywhere. 
As,  however,  the  distinctions  of  locality  or  birth  are  acci- 
dental, we  shall  endeavor  to  hold  to  permanent  and  univer- 
sal principles  as  a means  of  classification.  This  will  he 
the  easier,  inasmuch  as,  during  long  periods,  specific  styles 
and  methods  obtained  in  certain  localities,  in  entire  har- 
mony with  the  moral  and  intellectual  features  of  their  art. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Giotto,  1276-1336.  His  Person  and  Character.  The  Representative  Artist. 
Elements  of  the  new  Progress.  Mccola  Pisano,  1205-1273.  Sculpture  in 
the  School  of  the  Pisani  as  related  to  Painting  in  the  Thirteenth  Century. 
Analysis  of  Giotto’s  Merits.  His  Connection  with  Dante.  Character  of 
their  Times.  Their  opposite  Tempers.  Anecdotes  of  the  Poet  and  Artist. 
Giotto’s  Portrait  of  Dante.  How  it  was  discovered.  Legends  of  Art,  cred- 
ible and  otherwise.  The  Poetry  of  Giotto.  Epic  and  Lyric  Painting.  Gi- 
otto’s Relation  to  the  former  Phase,  and  his  Influence  upon  Art  as  a Whole 
until  the  Epoch  of  Masaccio. 


Nature,  when  her  soil  craves  seed,  drops  her  acorns  by 
the  road-side,  unnoticed  and  uncared  for.  But  soon  the 
lusty  oak  succeeds  to  the  little  acorn,  and  we  marvel  at  its 
beauty,  rejoice  in  its  shade,  and  protect  ourselves  by  its 
strength.  Thus  have  arisen  many  of  the  world’s  best 
names.  Manger  or  sheepfold,  in  poverty,  wanderings,  and 
wilderness  — out  of  such  beginnings  have  grown  noble  end- 
ings. The  gulf  is  wide  between  Giotto  the  companion  of 
sheep  and  Giotto  the  friend  of  Dante  and  Petrarch,  the 
well-beloved  of  popes,  princes,  and  peoples ! Yet  he 
bridged  it  over  by  one  of  the  fairest  fabrics  ever  raised  by 
man ; not  only  beautiful  but  permanent ; so  that  we  of 
the  nineteenth  century  know  him  and  love  him  almost  as 
well  as  his  associates  of  the  thirteenth.  His  career  was  so 
sunny  and  fertilizing  that  we  may  well  wonder  thereat. 
Whence  his  continuous  happiness  and  success  while  Dante 
was  in  exile  and  sorrow  1 How  was  it  that  amid  turbu- 
lence and  faction  he  was  always  peaceful  and  prosperous  \ 


GIOTTO. 


1 28 


Why  was  it  that  rival  cities  from  Naples  to  Avignon  — 
home,  Assisi,  Verona,  Florence,  Padua,  and  many  others  — 
disagreeing  as  they  might  in  every  other  respect,  were 
always  of  one  accord  in  honoring  and  esteeming  him, 
happy  if  they  could  secure  his  presence  among  them  and 
his  handwriting  upon  their  walls  % 

Peace,  progress,  prosperity,  each  adopted  him.  Never 
were  nature  and  fortune  in  more  amiable  conjunction  than 
when  Giotto  was  born.  The  former  endowed  him  with  the 
gifts  which  form  the  poet,  engineer, * architect,  sculptor, 
and  painter ; the  latter  provided  him  with  the  opportunity 
and  means  of  development.  But  nature  was  kinder  still 
in  adding  to  genius  the  innate  credentials  of  the  Christian 
gentleman,  which  were  so  well  sustained  throughout  his 
brilliant  career  as  to  make  him  the  favorite  of  all  classes 
and  opinions.  Although  by  birth  of  the  humblest  rank, 
he  became  the  accomplished  courtier,  and  that  without  for- 
feiting the  confidence  and  good-will  of  those  who  neither 
loved  nor  trusted  the  aristocracy.  To  thoroughly  appre- 
ciate his  social  virtues,  we  must,  before  parting  from  him, 
contrast  his  character  with  the  spirit  and  deeds  of  the  age ; 
from  which  spectacle  we  shall  extract  the  trite  but  never 
too  often  to  be  repeated  lesson,  of  the  power  of  the  supe- 
rior sentiments,  under  all  circumstances,  when  backed  by 
amiability  and  sound  principle,  like  oil  upon  stormy  waters, 
to  assuage  evil  passions,  and  to  triumph  over  physical 
force. 

There  was  in  Giotto  a magnetism  of  presence,  emanat- 
ing from  a kindly  superiority  of  heart  as  well  as  mind,  that 
was  irresistible.  Free  from  that  professional  jealousy 
which  disturbs  the  hearts  and  impedes  the  talents  of  so 

* He  was  employed  by  the  Florentines  to  superintend  the  erection  of  their 
walls  and  fortifications.  See  Baldinucci,  vol.  i.  p.  117.  Firenze,  1847. 


124 


SIMONE  OF  NAPLES. 


many  otherwise  great  artists,  he  sought  occasions  to  pro- 
mote the  welfare  of  others,  without  wounding  their  spirits. 
When  he  was  at  Naples  in  132IJ , one  Simone,  a painter, 
had  up  to  that  time  enjoyed  no  inconsiderable  reputation. 
But  the  superior  accomplishments  and  engaging  manners 
of  Giotto  so  eclipsed  him,  that  he  came  to  be  wellnigh 
forgotten.  This  fickleness  of  fortune  preyed  upon  his 
mind,  and  made  him  ill.  Yet  he  was  too  high-spirited  to 
complain,  and  too  honorable  not  to  add  his  testimony  to 
the  merits  of  his  unconscious  rival,  while  maintaining  that 
his  own  works  were  deserving  of  notice.  Determi-ning  to 
reinstate  himself  in  popular  favor  upon  the  only  basis  which 
a true  artist  values,  he  placed  some  of  his  pictures  where 
Giotto  could  see  them.  The  result  justified  his  opinion  of 
himself.  Giotto  was  so  much  struck  with  their  good  qualities 
that  he  at  once  warmly  recommended  him  to  King  Robert, 
by  whom  he  was  promptly  and  generously  patronized. 
With  restored  credit,  his  health  returned,  and  he  flourished 
at  Naples  for  many  years,  becoming  a disciple  of  his  bene- 
factor, imitating  his  style,  and  transmitting  it  to  several 
generations  of  followers. 

All  the  world  knows  that  Cimabue  adopted  Giotto, 
taught  him  what  he  knew,  and,  notwithstanding  the  proud, 
sensitive  nature  of  the  master,  we  can  find  no  trace  of 
other  than  the  most  generous  feelings  towards  his  pupil, 
who,  as  he  could  not  help  foreseeing,  was  destined  to  eclipse 
the  reputation  of  which  he  was  so  jealous.  The  same 
warm  friendship  which  he  secured  to  himself  as  a pupil, 
when  he  became  a master  he  received  from  his  pupils ; the 
greatest  of  whom  were  content  to  continue  under  him,  after 
they  had  arrived  at  the  same  dignity  themselves,  while  he 
lived,  and,  after  his  death,  continued  to  shine  only  in  the 
degree  that  they  had  gained  light  from  the  system  of 


GIOTTO  AS  A WORKER. 


1 25 


which  Giotto  was  the  sun.  In  this  relation,  Puccio  Ca- 
panna,  although  an  older  man,  remained  with  him  forty 
years,  desirous  only  of  instruction,  and  Taddeo  Gaddi  for 
twenty-four.  Stefano,  Simone  Martini,  and  other  eminent 
artists  have  been  classed  as  pupils  of  his,  but  without  suf- 
ficient proof.  The  fact,  however,  shows  the  extent  and 
weight  of  Giotto’s  reputation,  which  for  centuries  has  not 
only  held  its  own  ground,  but  by  popular  prejudice  been 
swelled  to  some  extent  at  the  expense  of  others. 

Giotto  was  diligent  in  all  things ; a hard  worker,  not 
permitting  genius  to  lull  him  into  ease,  or  frame  excuses 
for  slackness  of  hand.  His  studio  was  a veritable  work- 
shop. Although  laden  with  self-earned  honors  and  riches, 
his  industry  never  slackened.  Prosperity  was  loyal  to  him 
to  the  end.  Notwithstanding  his  numerous  works,  spread 
from  the  Rhone  to  Vesuvius,  from  the  Adriatic  to  the 
Tyrrhenian  Sea,  in  every  department  of  painting  as  then 
practised,  not  to  mention  other  branches  of  art,  he  found 
time  to  enjoy  life  after  the  manner  of  large-hearted,  gener- 
ous instincts,  in  which  the  ascetic  tendencies  of  his  time 
found  no  sympathetic  narrowness  of  soul.  Few  artists 
have  accomplished  as  much  ; fewer  still  have  equalled  him 
in  comprehensive  genius.  Beside  fresco  and  tempera 
painting,  he  practised  with  equal  success  the  art  of  the 
mosaicist  and  miniaturist.  Michel  Angelo  bestowed  great 
praise  upon  his  graphic  truth,  especially  in  his  group  of 
apostles  around  the  dying  Virgin,  whose  soul,  according  to 
the  beautiful  idea  of  the  age,  Christ  is  holding  in  his  arms 
in  the  shape  of  a new-horn  infant,  welcomed  by  him,  with 
a deeper  than  maternal  joy,  into  the  existence  prepared 
from  the  beginning  for  the  blessed.  This  work  has  been 
highly  prized  by  artists  of  every  generation.  But  to  go 
back  to  his  earliest  effort.  The  rude  sketch  of  the  sheep 


A REPRESENTATIVE  MAN. 


1 26 

m the  solitude  of  the  wilderness,  done  by  the  boy  of  twelve 
years,  without  other  impulse  or  teacher  than  the  soul  within 
and  the  nature  without  him,  had  in  it  the  embryo  of  that 
noble  Campanile  which  still  remains  in  all  its  pristine  love- 
liness, his  monument  and  his  country’s  joy.  In  view, 
therefore,  of  the  precedents  of  Giotto  in  art,  as  we  now 
recall  his  career,  we  may  justly  consider  him  the  type  of  a 
coming  great  and  important  epoch ; the  Representative 
man  of  its  unfolded  Progress.  Welcome  Giotto  ! 

To  comprehend  this  incipient  progress,  it  is  necessary  to 
gather  up  its  elements,  and  to  inquire  what  relation  Giotto 
bore  to  it.  One  of  its  chief  features  was  its  eclecticism. 
It  went  to  every  accessible  source  for  instruction  and  in- 
spiration — mark,  not  for  imitation , which  was  the  bane 
of  the  later-born  art  of  Italy,  but  for  knowledge.  And  it 
was  well  at  this  juncture,  and  for  two  centuries  later,  that 
so  little  classical  art  had  been  disinterred ; enough  for 
hints  or  suggestions,  but  not  enough  for  corruption.  As 
late  as  1450,  Poggio  Braeciolini  found  only  six  antique 
statues  in  Rome.  Among  the  first  lessons  to  which  it 
gave  heed  was  the  scanty  example  of  classical  art,  frag- 
mentary and  cropping  out  of  the  ruins  of  ancient  civiliza- 
tion, like  gold  veins  in  the  quartz  rock,  but  significant  of 
much  treasure  yet  unseen.  Pisan  adventurers  of  the 
eleventh  century  had  brought  witli  other  objects  from 
the  East  a Grecian  sarcophagus,  on  which  was  carved  the 
story  of  Ippolito  and  Fedra,  and  which  was  subsequently 
appropriated  to  hold  the  ashes  of  Beatrice,  mother  of  the 
famous  Countess  Matilda.  Its  captors  little  foresaw  that, 
in  that  single  piece  of  sculpture,  of  a quality  common 
enough  where  they  got  it,  though  not  the  best  Greek  work, 
there  was  quietly  reposing  an  entire  revolution  in  the  art  of 
Italy.  But  so  it  was.  And  we  may  now  not  only  look 


NICCOLA  PISANO. 


127 


with  more  than  common  interest  upon  this  relic  — trans- 
ferred in  this  century  from  its  first  locality  beside  the  door 
of  the  Duomo  to  the  Campo  Santo  — for  the  service  it 
rendered,  but  see  in  it  one  of  those  simple  though  myste- 
rious hints  of  Providence,  which,  when  the  fulness  of  time 
arrives,  passes  into  the  minds  of  men,  developing  great 
results.  Newton  watched  an  apple  fall,  and,  as  it  were  by 
the  inspiration  of  Nature  herself,  detected  in  it  the  secret 
of  a profound  law.  Niccola  Pisano  (1205—1^78)?  sculp- 
tor and  architect,  by  chance  seeing  the  Pisan  sarcophagus, 
was  penetrated  at  once  with  the  beauty  and  spirit  of  Greek 
art.  Immediately  he  made  studies  from  the  nude  figures 
and  draperies,  and  so  improved  his  taste  and  knowledge  of 
design  that  he  became,  of  his  time,  the  first  in  attainments 
as  he  was  in  genius.  To  him,  above  all  others,  is  to  be 
ascribed  the  great  merit  of  having  led  the  way  to  the  re- 
vival of  art  generally.  Indeed,  his  influence  on  sculpture 
may  be  classed  with  that  of  Giotto  on  painting.  Their 
calibre  of  mind  and  purity  of  taste  were  much  the  same. 
Niccola,  however,  preceded  Giotto  an  entire  generation, 
dying  just  as  the  latter  was  horn,  giving  to  sculpture  that 
impetus  of  improvement  in  which  its  sister  art  was  still 
deficient,  and  for  which,  in  no  small  degree,  it  was  ulti- 
mately indebted  to  the  examples  in  sculpture  of  Niccola 
and  his  immediate  successors,  Giovanni  (1^7 4—1320)  and 
Andrea  Pisani  (1^76— 134-5),  neither  of  whom,  however, 
was  his  rival  in  invention  or  execution.  The  works  he 
left  are  remarkable  for  their  happy  combination  of  the 
rules  of  Greek  taste  with  the  superior  motives  of  Chris- 
tian art,  and  are  distinguished  for  refined  feeling,  dignified 
action,  and  poetic  expression.  Besides  a keen  perception 
of  truth  and  beauty  in  art  or  nature,  with  the  faculty  of 
drawing  thence,  and  amalgamating  into  his  own  work, 


128 


NICCOLA  PISANO. 


whatever  was  excellent,  improving  from  without  being  re- 
stricted by  models,  this  great  man,  chiefly  in  the  pulpits  of 
the  Baptistery  at  Pisa,  the  Cathedral  at  Siena,  and  the 
shrine  of  St.  Dominic  at  Bologna,  gives  more  evidence  of 
an  originality,  nobility,  force,  feeling,  variety,  and  beauty 
of  composition,  with  lighter  admixture  of  the  technical 
defects  of  the  age,  and  restraint  of  theological  motives, 
than  any  other  artist  except  Giotto.  The  earlier  artists 
did  not  fall  into  the  fatal  error  of  the  Renaissance,  and 
beside  the  forms  plagiarize  the  inspirations  of  paganism. 
Whatever  they  were  able  to  appreciate  of  its  superior  artis- 
tic expression,  they  sought  to  incorporate  into  their  own 
works,  the  spirit  of  which  was  deeply  imbued  with  the  religious 
sentiment  of  their  epoch.  Hence,  although  the  influence 
of  classical  art  by  means  of  the  school  created  by  Niccola 
was  widely  felt,  yet  it  was  chiefly  through  its  aesthetic  prin- 
ciples. Its  principal  improvements  were  in  the  accessories  of 
composition,  greater  simplicity  and  more  grace  and  elegance 
of  drapery,  breadth  of  manner,  unity,  and  harmony,  with  a 
subjection  of  details  to  principals ; while  the  general  feel- 
ing was  thoroughly  Christian  in  its  Gothic  aspect  of  up- 
right, heavenward  lines  and  arches,  whose  spiritual  aspira- 
tion is  the  antithesis  of  the  right-angular,  heavily  corniced 
Grecian  masses. 

It  is  difficult  to  decide  to  what  extent  Giotto  was  in- 
debted to  the  progress  made  by  Niccola  for  his  own.  He 
does  not  exhibit  so  decided  a classical  feeling  as  do  the 
Pisani.  Still  it  is  traceable,  though  in  an  inferior  degree 
to  that  element,  guided  by  his  own  intuitions,  which  is  so 
perceptible  in  him  that  it  may  be  set  down  as  bis  positive 
trait  ; that  is,  his  direct  study  of  nature.  And  herein 
lies  his  main  contribution  to  the  new  Progress.  His  style 
in  this  respect  contrasted  so  favorably  with  his  antecedents 


GIOTTO. 


m 


in  painting,  that  Boccaccio,  in  his  enthusiastic  admiration, 
said  that  Nature  produced  nothing  that  Giotto  could 
not  imitate  even  to  illusion ; a criticism  which  provokes 
a smile  if  considered  in  the  light  of  the  more  scientific 
design  of  our  day,  hut  which  seemed  not  overstrained  then. 
In  one  of  his  frescoes  at  Assisi,  Giotto  represents  a thirsty 
man  bending  over  a fountain  to  drink.  This  is  perhaps 
the  earliest  of  the  innovations  of  pure  naturalism  in 
strictly  religious  art,  intended  simply  as  a pleasing  ac- 
cessory, the  chief  attention  being  concentrated  upon  St. 
Francis  in  the  mid-distance  praying  for  the  miraculous  flow 
of  waters. 

Indeed,  Giotto  is  emphatically  naturalistic;  the  represent- 
ative beginning  of  the  excellence  in  this  respect  of  the 
Tuscan  schools.  But  his  naturalism  is  more  apparent 
in  motive  than  execution,  especially  in  color.  In  this 
respect,  in  his  earlier  works,  he  appears  to  have  been 
influenced  by  the  weak  and  conventional  qualities  of  his 
predecessors,  and  to  have  transmitted  them  to  many  of  his 
disciples. 

The  impress  of  a strong  individuality  is  decidedly 
marked  in  his  copious  and  suggestive  compositions.  He 
tells  his  stories  in  brief,  simple  touches,  full  of  quiet  dig- 
nity and  rich  meaning.  We  find,  however,  in  his  works, 
much  of  the  old  ignorance  of  design,  long,  half-closed 
eyes  and  near  together,  heavy  outlines,  flat  figures,  as  if 
cut  out  of  cards,  extremities  rudely  drawn,  want  of  anatom- 
ical knowledge,  crude  perspective,  or  rather  none  beyond 
the  faintest  suggestion : faults  which  in  greater  or  less 
degree  survived  him  through  several  generations  of  artists. 
Indeed,  in  judging  of  the  art  of  the  Giotteschi,  as  his  schol- 
ars are  termed,  we  have  to  consider,  not  their  inferiority  in 
these  points  to  the  school  of  Masaccio,  but  their  superiority 


130 


GIOTTO. 


to  their  starting-point  in  technical  knowledge.  By  such 
a comparison  we  are  enabled  not  only  rightly  to  estimate  the 
actual  advances  made,  but  to  avoid  an  exaggeration  of  our 
own  standard  of  excellence,  which  centuries  hence  may  he 
as  far  beneath  that  then  existing,  as  the  design  of  the  thir- 
teenth centurv  is  inferior  to  ours.  That  which  most  con- 
•/ 

cerns  us  to  note,  especially  in  Giotto,  is  nobility  of  thought, 
dramatic  energy,  fertile  invention,  and  above  all,  truth  of 
conception,  giving  to  his  subjects,  whose  masses  are  beauti- 
fully disposed  and  well  balanced,  great  accuracy  of  expres- 
sion. He  thus  graphically  realizes  his  idea  as  a whole, 
with  a picturesque  and  harmonious  variety  of  minor  mo- 
tives singularly  touching  and  effective,  giving  a lofty  opinion 
of  his  poetical  power.* 

In  the  series  of  small  pictures  by  Giotto  in  the  Floren- 
tine Academy  there  are  several  pertinent  specimens  of  his 
peculiar  merits.  One  of  the  best  is  the  “ Last  Supper.” 
Giotto  has  grouped  the  apostles  around  the  table,  a form 
of  composition  avoided  by  almost  every  one  else,  and  par- 
ticularly difficult  in  the  infancy  of  knowledge  of  perspec- 
tive. Christ  sits  at  the  upper  end.  John  leans  upon  his 
bosom.  Judas,  at  the  prophetic  exclamation  of  his  Master, 
has  suddenly  turned  his  face  from  him,  with  a look  of  vile 
apprehension,  and  partly  fronting  the  spectator,  conceals  his 
sinister  emotion  from  his  brethren.  The  other  apostles  are 
admirably  individualized,  each  moved  by  a common  senti- 
ment of  surprise,  indignation,  love,  and  sorrow,  manifested 
in  dramatic  unity,  yet  with  a variety  of  gesture  and  expression, 
such  as  has  not  been  rivalled,  until  we  arrive  at  that  which 


* PL  B,  fig.  5,  illustrates  his  general  characteristics  of  design  and  color, 
and  is  largely  imbued  with  his  religious  sentiment.  PL  D,  fig.  12,  a beautiful 
Triptych,  closely  resembles  his  manner,  with  less  strength  of  design  but  greater 
vivacity  of  coloring,  indicative  of  a more  northern  parentage. 


GIOTTO. 


131 


stands  preeminent  in  art,  the  44  Cenacolo  ” of  Leonardo. 
Judging  Giotto  by  the  invention  and  power  of  this  little 
picture,  he  bridges  over  the  gulf  of  centuries  that  separates 
him  from  the  more  pretentious  ones  of  the  contemporaries 
of  Raphael ; none  of  which,  beside  that  above  mentioned, 
and  perhaps  that  of  Andrea  del  Sarto  in  the  Salvi  con- 
vent, equal  this  in  the  higher  attributes  of  composi- 
tion. 

Not  the  least  of  Giotto’s  merits  are  the  concise,  and  vigor- 
ous modes  by  which  he  incorporates  the  accessory  incidents 
into  the  main  story.  Observe  the  64  Incredulity  of  St. 
Thomas  ” of  the  above  series.  The  disciple,  with  doubt 
beaming  in  every  feature,  touches  the  wound  of  the 
Saviour,  who  gazes  on  him  with  sorrowful  reproof, 
while  the  other  apostles  are  watching  with  intense  expec- 
tation the  result  of  the  experiment.  Another  fine  stroke 
of  nature  is  in  the  boy  Christ  disputing  in  the  Temple. 
Mary,  who  has  just  entered,  with  earnest,  suppliant  gaze 
and  gesture  urges  her  son  to  come  to  her  arms.  One 
only  of  the  doctors  notices  the  interruption,  and  turns 
half  angrily  towards  the  pleading  mother.  His  associ- 
ates are  too  absorbed  by  the  infant  prodigy  to  be  aware 
of  her  presence.  Jesus,  still  in  the  attitude  of  discussion, 
points  with  his  right  hand  towards  Mary,  with  a look  that 
recalls  those  memorable  words  44  Wist  ye  not  that  I must 
be  about  my  Father’s  business  l ” How  vastly  superior  in 
the  conception  is  this  unpretending  little  composition  to 
Holman  Hunt’s  labored  and  involved  picture  of  the  same 
subject,  with  its  dazzling  confusion  of  details,  and  lower 
type  of  religious  idealism!  In  the  44 Visitation  of  Mary  to 
Elizabeth,”  the  latter  kneels  to  receive  the  embrace  of  her 
more  divinely  honored  junior.  So  in  the  presentation  of 
Christ  to  the  high-priest  at  the  Temple  with  the  cus- 


132 


GIOTTO. 


tomary  offering  of  doves,  the  baby,  held  by  the  father, 
springs  eagerly  from  his  arms  towards  his  mother . 

Giotto’s  naturalism  is  of  the  most  refined  character. 
There  is  nothing  whatever  in  any  of  his  works  that  savors 
of  the  subsequent  sensualism  of  the  matured  development 
of  the  Italian  schools.  A corresponding  purity  of  senti- 
ment obtains  in  nearly  all  of  his  particular  followers. 
Outlines,  figures,  and  draperies  are  invariably  of  the 
chastest  description.  Delicacy  and  propriety  in  all  things 
are  scrupulously  observed,  under  the  influence  of  religious 
motives.  The  modesty  considered  to  be  appropriate  to  the 
Virgin,  forbade  in  most  cases  the  indication  of  the  bosom 
even  ; and  when,  in  rare  instances,  the  Madonna  was  rep- 
resented as  giving  suck  to  the  infant  Jesus,  the  drapery 
carefully  concealed  every  part  of  her  person  except  that  ab- 
solutely necessary  for  the  function.  There  was  no  effort,  as 
obtained  later  among  the  more  naturalistic  religious  artists, 
to  sensualize  the  beauty  of  sacred  personages.  In  the  pu- 
rism of  art  it  was  sufficient  to  bestow  all  its  power  upon  the 
idealism  of  sentiment  rather  than  the  senses.  Hence  its 
intense  mysticism,  ecstasy,  and  pious  feeling  ; nothing  being 
permitted  which  was  calculated  to  distract  the  mind  from 
its  devotional  intent.  Somewhat  of  its  aesthetic  barrenness 
is  attributable  to  the  technical  ignorance  of  the  age.  But 
it  must  also  be  remembered  that  much  of  that  ignorance 
was  imposed  upon  art  by  the  then  popular  asceticism. 
Giotto,  even  while  adhering  to  traditional  rule,  never  went, 
as  many  others,  into  the  opposite  extreme,  and  in  delineat- 
ing the  bad,  did  not  allow  his  imagination  to  revel  in  hell- 
ish types.  His  devils,  seldom  introduced,  are  at  the  worst 
but  insignificant  imps,  more  allegorical  than  horrible.  Evi- 
dently the  heaven  of  his  own  mind  overflowed  in  all  he  did. 
A pleasant  personage  himself,  eschewing  dark  fancies, 


DANTE  S GHOST. 


133 


hopeful,  elastic,  earnest,  sympathetic,  and  observant  of 
the  lights  of  nature,  his  types  partake  of  a ubiquity  of 
disposition  in  all  that  was  noble,  intellectual,  joyous,  and 
truthful. 

Tradition  declares  that  the  designs  of  his  celebrated  alle- 
gorical frescoes  at  Assisi  were  suggested  to  him  from  the 
spirit-world  by  his  deceased  friend  Dante. # 

* By  the  following  extract  translated  from  Boccaccio’s  Vita  di  Dante,  it 
will  be  seen  that  a belief  in  spiritual  intercourse  with  the  unseen  world 
obtained  in  those  times  as  well  as  these.  Indeed  not  a little  of  the  art  of  the 
Catholic  Church  at  all  times  has  been  inspired  by  her  so-called  visions,  miracles, 
and  other  phenomena,  which  although  repudiated,  en  masse,  by  Protestants, 
when  out  of  their  sacred  record,  are  strikingly  analogous  to  many  well-authen- 
ticated marvels  which  modern  spiritualism  is  pressing  home  upon  the  present 
materialistic  age  to  the  enlightenment  of  many  crude  and  gloomy  views  of  fu- 
ture life.  But  to  Boccaccio’s  tale  : 

“ A worthy  man  of  Ravenna  whose  name  was  Pier  Giardino,  long  time  a 
disciple  of  Dante,  grave  in  his  manner  and  worthy  of  credit,  relates  that  after 
the  eighth  month  from  the  day  of  his  master’s  death  there  came  to  his  house 
before  dawn  Jacobo  di  Dante,  who  told  him  that  that  night  while  he  was 
asleep  his  father  Dante  had  appeared  to  him,  clothed  in  the  whitest  garments 
and  his  face  resplendent  with  an  extraordinary  light ; that  he,  Jacobo,  asked 
him  if  he  lived,  and  that  Dante  replied  ‘Yes,  but  in  the  true  life,  not  our  life.’ 
Then  he,  Jacobo,  asked  him  if  he  had  completed  his  work  before  passing  into 
the  true  life,  and  if  he  had  done  so  what  had  become  of  that  part  of  it  which 
was  missing,  which  none  of  them  had  been  able  to  find.  To  this  Dante 
seemed  to  answer  £ Yes,  I finished  it,’  and  then  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led 
him  into  that  chamber  in  which  Dante  had  been  accustomed  to  sleep  when  he 
lived  in  this  life,  and  touching  one  of  the  walls,  he  said  ‘ What  you  have 
sought  for  so  much  is  here,’  and  at  these  words  both  Dante  and  sleep  fled  from 
Jacobo  at  once.  Por  which  reason,  Jacobo  said  he  could  not  rest  without  com- 
ing to  explain  what  he  had  seen  to  Pier  Giardino,  in  order  that  they  should  go 
together  and  search  out  the  place  thus  pointed  out  to  him,  which  he  had  re- 
tained excellently  in  his  memory,  and  to  see  if  this  had  been  pointed  out  by 
a true  spirit  or  a false  delusion.  Por  which  purpose  they  set  off  together,  and 
went  to  the  house  in  which  Dante  resided  at  the  time  of  his  death.  Having 
called  up  its  present  owner  he  admitted  them,  and  they  went  to  the  place  thus 
pointed  out ; there  they  found  a blind  fixed  in  the  wall,  as  they  had  always 
been  used  to  see  it  in  past  days  ; they  lifted  it  gently  up,  when  they  found  a 
little  window  in  the  wall  never  before  seen  by  any  of  them,  nor  did  they  even 
know  it  was  there.  In  it  they  found  several  writings,  all  mouldy  from  the 
dampness  of  the  walls,  and  had  they  remained  there  a little  while  longer  they 
would  have  moultered  away.  Having  thoroughly  cleared  away  the  mould,  they 
found  them  to  be  the  thirteen  cantos  that  had  been  wanting  to  complete  the 
Commedia .” 


134  giotto’s  portrait  of  dante. 

By  his  portrait  of  Dante,  Giotto  may  be  esteemed  the 
father  of  modern  portraiture,  for  he  gave  to  that,  as  to 
all  else  he  touched,  a new  existence.  The  fact  of  the 
discovery  of  the  only  authentic  portrait  of  the  poet,  in 
the  chapel  of  the  Bargello  at  Florence,  in  1840,  is  well 
known,  but  the  particulars  were  not  generally  made 
public.  It  is  an  event  of  such  special  interest  in  the 
history  of  art  and  literature,  that  we  have  procured  from 
that  accomplished  and  erudite  English  artist,  Seymour 
Kirk  up,  to  whom  the  credit  of  bringing  the  portrait  to 
the  light  of  day  is  due,  an  exact  relation  of  the  manner 
in  which  it  was  brought  about. 

Another  portrait  of  Dante  had  been  mentioned  by  Le- 
onardo Aretino,*  as  existing  in  the  church  of  St.  Croce, 
66  per  dipintore  perfetto  di  quel  tempo.”  It  was  found 
upon  inquiry  that  this  had  been  destroyed  with  nearly 
all  the  frescoes  on  the  walls,  to  make  place  for  the  al- 
tars erected  by  Vasari. 

Mr.  Kirkup  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  Bargello, 
where  Vasari,  and  Filippo  Villani  before  him,  had  men- 
tioned that  there  was  a portrait  of  Dante  in  a fresco  by 
Giotto,  which  was  whitewashed  in  the  sixteenth  century. 
The  remainder  of  the  narrative  is  best  given  in  Mr. 
Kirkup’s  own  words  : 


“ On  my  return  from,  the  church  ( St.  Croce),  a Piedmontese,  Sig.  Bezzi,  called 
on  me,  to  whom  I related  my  disappointment,  and  told  him  there  was  still  a 
chance  left  of  finding  an  authentic  portrait.  I told  him  of  the  whitewashed  fresco 
by  Giotto,  of  which  he  said  he  had  never  heard.  My  books  were  on  the  table,  and 
I showed  him  my  authorities,  Filippo  Villani,  Vasari,  &c.,  and  invited  him  to 
join  me  in  seeking  for  it.  He  agreed,  and  the  next  day  called  to  ask  me  to 
let  a gentleman  join  us,  whom  we  both  knew,  Mr.  Wylde,  an  American,  an 
enthusiastic  admirer  of  Dante  and  accomplished  scholar.  We  three  made  an 
agreement  with  a restorer  recommended  by  Sig.  Scotti  of  the  Gallery.  We 
agreed  to  pay  between  us  equally  to  Sig.  Marini  two  hundred  and  forty  scudi  for 


* Le  Vita  di  Dante  e del  Petraca.  Firenze,  1672. 


DISCOVERY  OF  DANTE  S PORTRAIT, 


135 


clearing  the  whitewash,  whether  successful  or  not  in  finding  the  portrait.  Sig. 
Bezzi,  being  an  Italian,  drew  up  the  necessary  petition  to  the  government,  and 
after  some  difficulty  leave  was  granted,  and  Marini  set  to  work.  The  first  time 
I went  to  the  Bargello  I found  he  had  made  two  holes  in  the  wall  as  big  as  his 
head,  in  which  he  had  placed  two  beams  for  his  scaffold.  If  the  portrait  had 
been  there  it  would  have  been  lost  forever.  He  was  obstinate,  and  I was 
obliged  to  threaten  not  to  pay  him  if  he  made  another  hole.  He  continued 
the  work  with  trestles.  After  some  time  the  government  stopped  the  work. 
Some  fine  figures  had  been  found.  Perhaps  it  was  feared  that  we  should  re- 
move and  sell  them,  or  perhaps  they  were  ashamed  that  foreigners  should  do 
what  was  so  national  an  undertaking.  It  was  dropped  for  some  time,  but  at 
last  they  consented  to  continue  the  engagement  on  the  same  terms  with  Ma 
rini,  and  he  returned  to  the  Bargello  in  their  pay.  During  this  time  Mr. 
Wylde  returned  to  America  and  Sig.  Bezzi  went  to  England.  The  work  went 
on,  and  figures  were  discovered,  and  at  last  I heard  that  Dante  was  found.  I 
ran  to  the  place  and  saw  it.  ‘ What  a pity/  I said,  ‘ the  eye  is  lost ! 5 — ‘ Era  un 
chiodo/  said  Marini.  How  did  he  know  it  ? no  doubt  he  drew  it  out  of  the 
white  wall  instead  of  cutting  it.  There  was  a large  and  deep  hole,  and  the 
people  who  mounted  on  the  scaffold  put  their  fingers  in  it,  ‘ Oh,  c’  e una  buca ! ’ 
I pressed  Marini  to  fill  it,  but  it  remained  for  many  months.  At  last,  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  Scientific  Congress,  orders  were  given  to  restore  the  fresco.  I saw 
the  minister  of  public  works  directing  Marini  how  to  paint  a new  eye,  and  they 
made  it  between  them  too  small  and  too  near  the  nose  after  having  filled  the 
hole.  Not  content  with  that  they  painted  the  rest  of  the  face  to  match  the  new 
eye,  to  the  injury  of  its  expression  and  character,  and  the  surface,  which  was 
like  an  enamel,  became  rough  and  mealy  with  his  distemper  colors.  The  alter- 
ations were  not  confined  to  the  face.  The  figure  was  dressed  in  the  three 
colors  worn  by  Beatrice,  as  described  in  the  ‘ Purgatorio/ 


Sovra  candido  vel,  cinta  d’  oliva, 

Donna  m’  apparve  sotto  verde  manto, 

Vestita  di  color  di  Jiamma  viva. — Canto  xxx.  31. 


These  colors  being  too  radical  for  that  time,  1840,  the  danger  was  avoided  by 
changing  the  green  to  chocolate-color.  The  whole  painting  is  so  much  spoiled 
that  it  would  be  worth  while  to  remove  the  guache  by  applying  a damp  cloth. 
The  cap  is  changed  in  form,  and  the  rest  daubed  in  a wretched  manner. 

“ They  would  not  allow  me  to  make  a drawing  from  it,  saying  ‘ E una  cosa 
troppo  gelosa/  It  was  ungrateful  enough,  and  I made  a little  sketch  in  my  hat 
on  a book.  I afterwards  found  means,  by  bribing  a gaoler,  to  get  locked  up  for 
one  morning,  and  I took  some  tracing-paper  in  my  portfolio,  but  I found  it 
useless.  The  light  was  so  weak  and  bad  from  a side  window  that  I could 
hardly  see  a fine.  Luckily  I had  taken  a piece  of  talc  or  talque,  and  was  able 
to  make  a correct  tracing,  and  then  withdrawing  to  a distance  I made  a drawing 
by  my  eye,  copying  the  fight  and  shade,  and  by  the  help  of  the  two  I was  able 
to  make  a careful  drawing  of  it,  which  I gave  to  Lord  Vernon.  He  has  lately 
had  it  finely  engraved  for  the  Arundel  Society,  and  it  is  the  only  print  that 
gives  a true  idea  of  what  the  fresco  was  before  it  was  repainted.” 


136 


DANTE  S PORTRAIT. 


Soon  after  the  portrait  was  brought  to  light,  Sig.  Bezzi 
went  to  London,  and  there,  without  mentioning  either  Mr. 
Kirkup’s  or  Mr.  Wylde’s  participation  in  the  matter,  got 
Walter  Savage  Landor  and  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  to  write 
in  the  periodicals  of  the  time  brilliant  accounts  of  his  dis- 
covery. 

In  none  of  his  works  does  Giotto  appear  more  to  advan- 
tage than  in  this  portrait,  as  it  originally  existed,  in  his 
exquisite  conception  of  the  character  of  his  friend.  It  is 
very  simple  in  outline,  and  done  with  slight  apparent  labor. 
But  it  discloses  the  “ prophetic  soul”  of  Dante,  as  he  must 
have  appeared  in  his  younger  and  happier  days,  when,  under 
the  daily  inspiration  of  the  sight  of  Beatrice,  nature  was 
developing  within  him  the  germs  of  his  future  greatness. 
No  one  can  look  on  that  face,  so  full  of  intellectual  aspira- 
tion and  ecstatic  desire,  conscious  of  internal  strength  yet 
tinged  with  the  sweet  foreboding  of  sorrow  that  ever 
shadows  the  joy  of  deep  love  — that  ever-present  some- 
thing which  veils  the  coveted  object  while  disclosing  its 
beauty  — without  feeling  that  Giotto  understood  Dante  then 
as  we  may  now,  in  the  full  light  of  his  accomplished  inspi- 
ration. The  recovering  of  the  lineaments  of  the  outer  man 
infused  with  the  spirit  of  what  was  to  he,  before  age  and 
pain  had  roughened  them  with  sacred  sorrow,  was  precisely 
what  was  needed  to  complete  our  comprehension  of  him. 

Of  Giotto,  Dante  had  written  : 

“ Credette  Cimabue  nella  picture 
Tener  le  campo  ; ed  ora  la  Giotto  il  grido 
Sicche  la  fama  di  colui  oscura.’ 

“ Cimabue  thought 

To  lord  it  over  painting’s  field  ; and  now 
The  cry  is  Giotto,  and  his  name  eclipsed.” 

Caret. 

The  influence  of  the  poet  upon  Giotto  is  perceptible  in 


BIANCHI  AND  NERI  FACTIONS. 


137 


his  use  of  refined  allegory,  which  does  not  seem  so  natural 
to  himself  as  in  accordance  with  the  prevailing  taste.  Yet 
there  is  no  point  in  his  character  more  striking  than  his 
freedom  from  mental  slavery  of  every  kind.  His  eclectic 
tastes  and  hearty  sympathies  with  intellectual  greatness, 
naturally  induced  in  him  close  relations  with  a genius  so 
unlike  his  own  in  many  respects  as  that  of  the  uncompro- 
mising, lofty-minded,  though  irate,  Dante,  whose  character 
was  the  concentration  both  of  the  greatness  and  the  bitter- 
ness of  the  party-spirit  of  his  century.  The  poet  ruled  the 
world  of  mind  in  solitude  and  exile.  The  painter’s  king- 
dom, home  we  should  say,  was  everywhere.  All  hearts 
rejoiced  in  his  presence ; for  he  possessed  the  enviable 
power  of  impressing  himself  upon  others  without  exciting 
opposition.  As  man  or  artist,  no  one’s  independence  was 
ever  more  complete  and  at  the  same  time  more  harmonious 
with  circumstances,  which  always  made  a fair  wind  for 
him.  Contemporary  jealousy  and  modern  criticism  equally 
acquiesce  in  his  fame,  so  that  his  good  fortune  is  as  per- 
manent as  it  was  wide-spread.  It  would  be  delightful  to 
know  more  of  the  private  life  of  one  of  whom  the  world 
has  always  spoken  well.  A great  man  without  enemies 
seems  an  anomaly  in  history.  But  such  continuous  amia- 
bility from  men  of  all  degrees  and  opinions  towards  him, 
could  not  have  existed  without  an  electrical  current  of 
genuine,  well-poised  humanity  flowing  from  him  at  all 
times,  towards  all  men.  He  lived,  too,  in  unamiable 
times,  when  Guelf  and  Gbibelline  alternately  drove  each 
other  to  exile  and  ruin.  The  Bianchi  and  Neri  factions 
were  synonymous  with  rapine,  arson,  and  assassination. 
Citizens’  homes  were  lofty,  massive  towers,  turreted  and 
machicolated  for  defence ; a stern  necessity  of  the  too  fre- 
quent social  anarchy.  Some  of  these  domestic  fortifica- 


138 


BIANCHI  AND  NERI  FACTIONS. 


tions,  which  were  extremely  numerous,  were  more  than 
two  hundred  feet  high,  rising  like  lofty  trees  in  a forest, 
far  above  the  dense  masses  of  houses  that  clustered  around 
their  foundations.  Evil  betided  him,  whose  foeman  was 
nigh,  who  neglected  46  watch  and  ward.”  For  those  were 
days  in  which  family  feuds  descended,  as  a sacred  legacy 
from  father  to  son. 

Let  us  see  of  what  character  were  the  civil  shoals  through 
which  Giotto  steered  his  bark  so  prosperously.  The  prosy 
old  chronicle  of  Marchione  Stefani  tells  us,  that  in  1^86, 
“there  was  in  Pistoja  a family  of  more  than  one  hundred 
men  capable  of  bearing  arms ; it  was  of  great  antiq- 
uity, but  was  wealthy,  powerful,  and  numerous,  descend- 
ed from  one  Cancellieri  Notaro,  and  from  him  they  had 
preserved  their  family  name.  From  the  children  of  the 
two  wives  of  this  man  were  descended  the  one  hundred 
and  seven  men  at  arms  already  enumerated ; one  of  the 
wives  having  been  named  Madonna  Bianca,  her  descend- 
ants were  called  Cancellieri  Bianchi,  and  the  descendants 
of  the  other  wife  were  called  Cancellieri  Neri.  It  came 
to  pass  through  the  agency  of  the  enemy  of  the  human 
race,  that  one  day  in  their  sports,  a son  of  one  of  the 
Black  Cancellieri,  named  Lori,  wounded  a son  of  one  of 
the  White  Cancellieri.  The  father  of  the  former  reproved 
his  boy,  saying,  4 Go  to  Messa  Bertucci  and  ask  him  to 
pardon  thee.’  The  son  went,  and  found  him  afflicted  on 
account  of  the  accident  to  his  son.  When  he  had  heard 
Lori,  he  said,  4 Thou  hast  shown  little  wisdom  in  com- 
ing here,  and  thy  father  in  sending  thee.’  Being  in  a 
room  on  the  ground-floor,  beside  one  of  his  stables, 
where  there  was  a manger,  he  had  him  seized  and  his 
hand  chopped  off  on  the  edge  of  it,  and  then  said  to 
him  4 Carry  thy  hand  to  thy  father  who  sent  thee.’ 


ROUGH  DEEDS. 


139 


The  youth,  thus  mutilated,  departed,  and  returned  to  his 
father.  When  his  father  saw  him,  as  may  reasonably 
be  expected,  he  and  his  took  up  arms.  Many  conflicts 
ensued,  and  some  died  on  one  side  and  some  on  the  other ; 
and  it  divided  the  city  of  Pistoja.” 

Unhappily  the  Bianchi  and  Neri  quarrel  was  not  con- 
fined to  the  city  in  which  it  originated,  hut  spread  to  Flor- 
ence, where  the  contests  were  if  possible  fiercer  and  more 
sanguinary  than  at  Pistoja.  During  a hollow  reconciliation 
brought  about  by  the  mediation  of  Pope  Boniface  VIII. 
— the  Church  then  was  often  diligent  in  her  efforts  to 
make  peace  and  repress  barbarism  — Villani  writes  “On 
Christmas  day,  while  Simone  Donati,  the  son  of  Corso, 
was  listening  to  preaching  in  the  Piazza  Sante  Croce,  his 
mother’s  brother,  Niccolo  di  Cerchi,  passed  by  with  several 
companions  on  horseback,  on  his  way  to  visit  his  farm  and 
mill  outside  the  gates.  Without  any  provocation,  and 
wholly  off’  his  guard,  he  was  struck  down  by  his  nephew  and 
killed.”  The  chronicler  observes  that  “ God  did  show  the 
justice  of  bis  judgments,”  for  the  said  Simone  died  the  follow- 
ing night  from  a wound  he  received  at  the  time  of  the  mur- 
der, but  “ he  was  considered  a great  loss,  for  he  was  the  most 
finished  and  accomplished  young  gentleman  of  Florence.” 
Rough  times  and  quick  tempers,  those  of  the  thirteenth 
century ! Not  unlike  to  some  of  ours  in  the  America  of 
the  nineteenth,  by  the  grace  of  God,  free  of  hand  in  good, 
as  well  as  evil.  But  in  old  Italy  a defeat  in  an  election 
was  equivalent  to  banishment,  confiscation,  and  something 
worse,  if  the  victors  could  catch  the  conquered.  When,  in 
1302,  by  the  treachery  of  Charles  d’ Anjou,  the  Ghibellines 
overcame  the  Guelf  magistracy  of  Florence,  Dante  was 
the  ambassador  of  the  commonwealth  at  Rome.  His 
property  was  immediately  plundered,  and  he,  with  bis  po- 


140 


GIOTTO  S FRIEND. 


litical  associates,  sentenced  “ to  be  burned  until  they  died,” 
should  they  fall  into  the  hands  of  their  successors  in  the 
government  of  their  native  city.*  But  Dante  was  fierce 
too,  in  his  way,  in  verse ; for  his  enemies  are  still  burning 
in  the  fires  he  prepared  for  them,  and  will  continue  to 
scorch  while  poetry  is  honored.  Yet  in  dealing  damnation 
he  is  sternly  just,  respects  neither  station  nor  person,  and 
is  severe  only  against  sin  and  its  doers.  Giotto  had  no 
enemies  ; so  he  puts  no  one  in  hell.  Judging  from  his 
works  and  life,  he  seems  to  have  quite  forgotten  there  was 
a hell.  Dante’s  temper  was  not  Giotto’s.  Local  tradition 
asserts  that  the  former  was  wont  even  to  throw  stones  at 
his  enemies  in  his  younger  days,  other  weapons  failing. 
Once,  walking  through  the  streets  of  Florence,  wearing 
his  gorget  and  arm-piece,  he  met  an  ass-driver,  who  as  he 
trudged  along  sung  from  the  poet’s  book,  ever  and  anon 
striking  his  beast  and  shouting  “ Arri  ” to  urge  him  on. 
In  going  by,  Dante,  enraged  at  his  treatment  of  his  verses, 
struck  him  a severe  blow  with  his  arm-piece  on  his  shoul- 
ders, exclaiming  to  the  astonished  lout  66  That  6 Arri  ’ was 
not  put  in  by  me.” 

On  another  occasion,  near  the  San  Piero  gate,  he  overheard 
a lusty  blacksmith  singing  one  of  his  verses  in  a hideous 
manner,  with  alterations  and  additions  of  his  own,  keeping 
time  to  his  music  with  blows  upon  the  anvil.  Dante 
rushed  to  the  shop,  seized  the  big  hammer  and  threw  it 
across  the  street ; then  the  tongs,  and,  one  after  another, 
the  rest  of  the  tools.  The  smith,  in  his  turn  enraged, 
cried  out  “ What  the  devil  are  you  about?  Are  you 

mad  ? ” 64  No,”  says  Dante,  “ but  if  you  do  not  wish  me 

to  spoil  your  things,  do  not  spoil  mine.” 

* See  Count  Caesar  Balbo’s  Life  and  Times  of  Dante ; also  for  the  citations 
from  the  old  chronicles  before  quoted,  et  seq.  Vol.  i.  p.  249.  London,  1852. 


GIOTTO  S FRIEND. 


141 


Never  fear,  Dante,  you  will  have  enemies  enough  ! 
We,  seeing  the  poet  and  statesman  in  the  full  magnitude 
of  his  fame,  can  not  only  credit  but  indorse  his  speech  to 
the  chiefs  of  his  party,  assembled  to  deliberate  upon  an 
embassy  to  the  pope  to  oppose  the  visit  of  Charles  d’ Anjou. 
He  was  as  right  in  his  opinion  of  himself  as  was  Giotto  in 
his  symbolical  circle.  Who  among  his  contemporaries  could 
rival  Dante  \ But  contemporaries  hearken  with  less  lenient 
ears  to  scornful  speech  than  do  posterity.  “If  I go,  who 
remains  ] and  if  I remain,  who  goes  l ” His  friends  never 
forgave  it. 

So  much  for  Giotto’s  friend ; now  for  Giotto.  He 
met  men  and  beasts  with  a different  disposition.  Yet  he 
could  joke,  cut  and  thrust,  and  neither  disturb  his  own  nor 
his  butt’s  temper.  He  lived  in  the  Via  Cocomero,  in  a 
house  which  belonged  to  Cimabue,  now,  alas ! destroyed. 
One  day,  being  in  his  gala  suit,  in  company  with  seme 
friends,  going  out  to  a festivity,  a filthy  hog  ran  between 
his  legs,  and  upset  him  in  the  mire.  “ Ah,”  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  picked  himself  up,  laughing  right  heartily,  “ you  are 
quite  right,  brute ; I,  who  have  gained  so  much  money  by 
your  bristles,  have  never  given  you  even  a dish  of  soup.” 

When  Dante  was  in  exile  at  Padua,  he  was  hospitably 
entertained  by  Giotto.  Seeing  his  children,  who  were  as 
ugly  as  their  father,  the  poet  said  to  him  “ Renowned 
master,  it  astonishes  me  that  you,  who  have  not  your  equal 
the  world  over  in  painting  for  making  such  beautiful  faces 
for  others,  should  make  them  so  ugly  for  yourself.”  To 
which  Giotto  responded  “ Quia  pingo  de  die , sed  Jingo  de 
node .”  Wittily  retorted,  although  we  have  a similar  joke 

told  of  the  Roman  painter  Mallius,  a thousand  years  older. 
Original  with  him  or  not,  it  greatly  amused  Dante. # 

* Baldinucci,  vol.  i.  p.  121. 


142 


PERSONAL  UGLINESS  OF  GIOTTO. 


Pig,  poet,  or  prince,  to  each  Giotto  was  never  at  loss 
for  repartee.  While  at  work  for  the  King  of  Naples,  the 
latter  often  came  to  him,  attracted  even  more  by  his  con- 
versation than  his  painting.  On  one  of  these  royal  visits, 
as  the  heat  was  very  oppressive,  the  good-natured  Robert 
proposed  that  the  artist  should  take  some  relaxation,  saying 
44  Giotto,  if  I were  you  I would  leave  off  for  a while.” 
44  I would  do  the  same  if  I were  you,”  was  his  reply.  At 
another  time,  Robert  asked  him  to  paint  his  kingdom. 
The  artist  immediately  drew  an  ass  saddled,  with  another 
pack-saddle  lying  at  its  feet,  which  the  donkey,  much  en- 
amored with  it,  was  continually  smelling  of.  On  each 
saddle  were  painted  the  royal  insignia.  64  What  does  this 
signify  I ” asked  the  king.  44  Simply  that  the  ass,  your 
kingdom,  not  satisfied  with  one  royal  saddle,  is  always 
snuffing  around  for  another.” 

The  personal  ugliness  of  Giotto  was  a standing  joke 
among  his  friends.  Both  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio  refer  to 
it.  But  they  all  warmly  loved  him,  as  he  deserved  to  be, 
for  the  beauty  of  his  mind  and  manners,  which,  like  the 
exalted  sentiment  he  displayed  in  painting,  blinds  us  to  his 
external  and  technical  defects.  His  wit  was  inexhaustible  ; 
so  was  his  good-humor.  In  courtesy  and  kindness  none 
surpassed  him.  While  charming  everybody  with  the  brill- 
iancy of  his  conversation,  and  winning  all  hearts  by  the 
goodness  of  his  own,  with  spontaneous  facility  of  character 
accommodating  himself  to  every  variety  of  disposition  and 
grade  of  rank,  he  always  preserved  his  own  native  refine- 
ment and  independence,  so  that  neither  hasty  speech,  du- 
bious act,  nor  anything  unworthy  of  a generous,  highly 
cultivated  nature,  is  recorded  of  him.  Such,  withal,  was 
his  modesty  that  he  always  refused  to  use  the  title  of 
44  Magister,”  or  master,  in  his  profession,  which  had  been 


ANECDOTES. 


1 43 


early  conferred  on  him.  This,  too,  in  an  age  when  such 
distinctions  were  coveted,  because,  besides  fame,  they  con- 
ferred solid  advantages.  Nor,  although  freely  enjoying 
life,  was  he  without  a deep  sense  of  religion.  In  a picture 
painted  for  a church  at  Gaeta,  the  Crucifixion,  a subject 
for  many  centuries  oftenest  required  of  art  on  account  of 
its  solemn,  mystical  meaning,  he  introduces  himself  hum- 
bly kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  Of  his  wife  and 
eight  children  we  can  only  infer  that,  with  such  a husband 
and  father,  they  formed  a happy  domestic  circle.  One  of 
his  sons,  Francesco,  became  a painter,  but  as  nothing  be- 
side this  fact  is  told  of  him,  he  probably,  like  most  sons 
of  great  men,  did  not  inherit  his  parent’s  genius. 

Certain  characteristic  anecdotes  cling  to  great  names 
like  barnacles  to  a ship’s  bottom,  being  repeated  and  shift- 
ed from  one  to  another  according  to  the  humor  of  the 
moment.  Thus  the  well-known  story  of  a fly  being  paint- 
ed so  naturally  upon  the  nose  of  a portrait,  by  a pupil 
during  the  master’s  absence,  as  to  deceive  him  on  his  re- 
turn, and  to  provoke  him  to  attempt  to  brush  it  off,  is  car- 
ried as  far  back  as  Cimabue  and  Giotto  by  Vasari,  which, 
if  true,  would  be  a bit  of  naturalism  not  at  all  in  accord- 
ance with  the  skill  of  the  day.  So,  too,  we  have  a story  of 
a pair  of  slippers  painted  on  the  floor  by  a pupil  of  another 
of  these  old  painters,  which,  when  the  master  came  in,  he 
vainly  attempted  to  take  up,  believing  them  to  be  his  own. 
In  fact,  many  of  the  tales  now  so  popularly  attributed  to 
artists  three  centuries  nearer  our  time,  were  then  bestowed 
upon  others  equally  as  remote  from  that  period.  Whence 
their  original  derivation,  no  antiquary  can  now  decide. 
But  that  some  go  wellnigh  back  into  mythic  periods  is 
evident  from  the  disreputable  story  told  by  Seneca  of  Par- 
rhasius,  who  is  accused  of  having  crucified  a slave  that  he 


TRADITIONS. 


1U 

might  paint  from  nature  the  strongest  expression  of  bodily 
anguish.  In  time,  this  fiction  was  attached  to  Giotto,  as 
a compliment  to  the  graphic  truth  of  his  crucifixes.  As  a 
sample  of  this  species  of  dubious  recognition  by  the  vul- 
gar of  great  qualities  in  artists,  with  the  absurd  traditions 
their  imaginations  gradually  weave  around  them,  we  quote 
the  story  in  full  as  applied  to  him. 

44  Giotto,  intending  one  day  to  draw  a crucifix,  persuaded 
a poor  man  to  suffer  himself  to  be  bound  to  the  cross  for 
an  hour,  at  the  end  of  which  he  was  to  be  released,  and 
receive  a considerable  reward  for  it ; but,  instead  of  this, 
as  soon  as  he  had  fastened  him  he  stabbed  him  dead,  and 
then  fell  to  drawing.  When  he  had  finished  his  picture, 
he  carried  it  to  the  pope,  who  liked  it  so  well  that  he  was 
resolved  to  place  it  over  the  altar  of  his  own  chapel. 
Giotto  told  him,  as  he  liked  the  copy  so  well  he  would 
show  him  the  original.  4 What  do  you  mean  \ ’ said  the 
pope ; 4 will  you  show  me  Jesus  Christ  on  the  cross  in 
person  \ ’ 4 No,’  said  Giotto,  4 but  I will  show  your  holi- 

ness the  original  from  whence  I drew  this,  if  you  will 
absolve  me  from  all  punishment.’  The  pope  promised 
this,  which  Giotto  believing,  attended  him  to  the  place 
where  it  was.  As  soon  as  they  were  entered,  he  drew 
back  a curtain  which  hung  before  the  dead  man  on  the 
cross,  and  told  him  what  he  had  done.  The  pope, 
troubled  at  so  barbarous  an  action,  retracted  his  promise, 
and  told  Giotto  that  he  should  surely  he  put  to  an  exem- 
plary death.  Giotto,  with  seeming  resignation,  only 
begged  leave  to  finish  the  piece  before  he  died,  which 
was  granted  him,  and  a guard  set  to  prevent  his  escape. 
As  soon  as  the  picture  was  delivered  into  his  hands,  he 
took  a brush,  and,  dipping  it  in  a sort  of  stuff  ready  for 
that  purpose,  daubed  the  picture  all  over  with  it,  so  that 


GIOTTO  S POETRY. 


145 


nothing-  of  the  crucifix  could  be  seen.  His  holiness  was 
so  incensed  that  he  threatened  to  put  Giotto  to  the  most 
cruel  death  unless  he  drew  another  like  the  former ; if  so, 
he  would  not  only  give  him  his  life,  but  also  an  ample  re- 
ward in  money.  Giotto,  as  he  had  reason,  desired  this 
under  the  pope’s  signet,  that  he  might  not  be  in  danger  of 
a second  appeal.  This  was  granted  to  him ; and,  taking 
a wet  sponge,  he  wiped  off  all  the  varnish  he  had  daubed 
on  the  picture,  so  that  the  crucifix  appeared  the  same  in  all 
respects  as  it  did  before.  Upon  this,  the  pope  remitted  his 
punishment ; and  they  say  that  this  crucifix  is  the  original 
from  which  the  most  famous  crucifixes  in  Europe  are 
drawn.”  * 

This  absurd  tale,  with  trifling  variations,  became  a favor- 
ite legend  in  art.  Deserting  Giotto,  it  was  attached  for  a 
while  to  Michel  Angelo ; subsequently  to  Guido,  since 
whom,  probably  no  artist  has  been  thought  deserving  of  it, 
as  it  has  not  gone  further. 

Outside  of  his  plastic  and  pictorial  art  we  have  no  sam- 
ple of  the  poetical  merits  of  Giotto,  except  his  stanzas  upon 
poverty. *j"  His  sentiments  in  these  verses  correspond  with 
his  genial  temperament,  and  are  quite  at  variance  with  the 
popular  ascetic  doctrines  then  so  sedulously  cultivated  by 
the  Church.  Still  he  was  high  in  favor  with  the  monastic 
orders,  and  much  employed  by  the  Franciscans,  the  severest 
of  all. 

Vespignano,  a petty  hamlet  fourteen  miles  from  Florence, 
was  his  birthplace.  He  was  born  in  1^76,  his  father,  Bon- 
done,  being  a common  laborer.  His  death  took  place  in 
Florence,  in  1336.  Besides  these  dates  nothing  is  known 
of  either  event.  J 

* Pilkington’s  Dictionary  of  Painters,  p.  227.  London,  1852. 

t Lemonier’s  Yasari,  vol.  i.  p.  348.  Florence,  1846. 

| Emeric  David  suggests  that  he  was  born  in  1266,  because  in  1298  he  had  al- 
10 


146 


DRAMATIC  AND  CONTEMPLATIVE  ART. 


Giotto  himself  was  emphatically  a man  of  action.  His 
basis  of  artistic  thought  was  religion,  but  he  characterizes 
it  under  its  dramatic  rather  than  its  contemplative  aspect. 
The  two  often  mingle  in  the  same  individual.  Generally, 
however,  we  find  a marked  predilection  for  one  or  the  oth- 
er, which  in  the  immediate  disciples  of  Giotto  and  contem- 
porary masters  is  so  conspicuous  as  to  have  led  to  their  di- 
vision into  two  great  and  distinct  schools,  named  from  the 
localities  where  either  distinction  predominated,  the  dra- 
matic being  styled  the  Florentine,  and  the  contemplative 
the  Sienese,  with  branches  and  modifications  intermingling 
throughout  Italy. 

This  classification  is  not  perfect.  It  serves  to  portray 
the  prevailing  local  tones,  but  draws  too  artificial  a line  be- 
tween artists.  There  are  two  methods : one  of  abstract 
principles,  the  other  of  external  styles.  Similar  inspiration 
often  gives  birth  to  diverse  expressions,  which,  taking  their 
tones  from  idiosyncrasies  of  thought  or  feeling,  occasion 
distinct  nomenclatures  in  art,  based  upon  its  external  mani- 
festations. Fra  Angelico,  Duccio,  Giotto,  Giovanni  Bellini, 
and  Michel  Angelo  are  exceedingly  dissimilar  in  style,  yet 
the  same  religious  principles  and  devout  feelings  were  at 
the  foundation  of  the  art  of  each.  Our  purpose  will  he 
better  elucidated  by  establishing  as  the  groundwork  of  clas- 
sification, first,  the  broad  Christian  track,  which  is  sufficiently 
comprehensive  to  embrace  all  that  is  earnest,  sincere,  and 
the  product  of  religious  faith  in  all  the  artists  of  the  period 
of  the  Giotteschi  and  those  of  their  tone  of  mind,  but  with 


ready  executed  his  mosaic  of  the  “ Miraculous  Draught  of  Fishes  ” at  Rome,  and 
many  of  his  great  works  at  Florence,  Arezzo,  Assisi,  and  even  in  the  first-named 
city;  the  mere  amount  of  labor  of  which,  not  to  speak  of  the  maturity  of  genius 
required,  seems  too  great  to  attribute  to  a young  man  of  twenty-two  years. 
The  editors  of  the  latest  Italian  edition  of  Vasari,  however,  adhere  to  the  com- 
monly received  date. 


EPIC  ASPECT.  147 

improved  execution  derived  from  the  subsequent  riper  de- 
velopment of  naturalism. 

Secondly,  we  shall  group  the  artists,  regarding  locality 
and  technical  manner  as  of  secondary  importance,  according 
to  the  generic  modes  of  expressing  their  ideas ; having 
first,  as  a common  foundation,  defined  their  ideas  and  aims. 
For  the  present  the  path  is  a plain  one ; religion  being  the 
main  idea,  and  instruction  and  edification  the  chief  aims, 
which  found  expression  in  one  or  the  other  of  two  aspects; 
the  dramatic  or  contemplative,  or  better  defined,  Epic  and 
Lyric. 

The  Epic  aspect  includes  those  whose  tendencies  were  to 
action  and  narrative  or  dramatic  expression,  and  who  in 
consequence  looked  more  directly  to  external  nature  for 
their  studies.  Objective  in  thought  and  feeling,  their  art 
was  naturalistic,  taking  its  inspiration  and  lessons  from  the 
world  about  them,  seldom  aspiring  to  go  beyond  the  visible 
range  of  humanity ; or,  when  aspiring  to  the  supernatural 
and  the  sublime,  adhering  in  their  creations  to  those  forms 
and  actions  most  suggestive  of  the  unseen  forces  of  life, 
present  or  future.  Their  sympathies  were  in  the  direction 
of  active  power ; their  delight  in  aroused  vital  energies ; 
and  their  language  that  of  the  tangible  world  of  events  and 
things.  Facts  were  their  main  reliance  — the  probable,  ac- 
tual, and  historical  being  their  groundwork,  even  when 
imagination  was  in  its  highest  creative  flight.  With  them 
idealization  is  never  transcendental ; mysticism  and  repose 
are  not  to  their  liking.  Hence  Epic  art  is  more  pleasing 
and  intelligible.  Hence,  also,  when  it  deals  in  spiritualities, 
its  types  are  earthly. 

The  other  class,  if  reference  was  had  only  to  their  habit 
of  thought,  it  would  be  well  to  term  idealists;  for  their  idio- 
syncrasy is  to  express  themselves  interiorly  through  their 


148 


LYRIC  ASPECT. 


subjects,  incarnating  in  them  ideas  and  emotions  which  have 
their  source  in  their  own  contemplative  faculties  rather  than 
in  the  world  about  them.  Spiritual  idealization  is  their  aim, 
repose  their  chief  characteristic,  and  contemplation  their 
ruling  habit.  They  strive  to  interpret  the  soul,  to  pene- 
trate its  ultimate  purposes  and  meanings,  to  spiritual- 
ize their  topics.  Beatitude,  peace,  ecstasy,  rejoice  their 
hearts.  They  deal  in  symbols,  allegory,  and  mysticism.  A 
poetical  halo  is  around  their  works.  The  quiet  virtues  in- 
spire them.  Shrinking  from  violent  action,  they  prefer 
ideas  to  facts.  Hence  they  are  rarely  historical,  and  if  they 
seek  to  illustrate  an  event,  it  is  rather  from  their  feeling 
that  it  takes  shape,  than  from  the  probabilities  and  possibil- 
ities of  the  actual.  They  look  to  nature  for  the  language 
of  expression,  for  this  is  the  common  necessity  of  art ; but 
their  ecstatic  thought  so  overpowers  the  external  mech- 
anism, that  in  viewing  their  works,  much  technical  defi- 
ciency is  unnoticed  or  forgiven  in  the  fulness  of  idea  and 
beauty  of  sentiment ; while  with  the  Epic  artists,  the  imita- 
tive quality  is  so  prominent  that  it  challenges  comparison 
with  its  models.  In  fine,  the  two  styles  are  the  inversions 
of  each  other  in  spirit : one  by  external  truth  leading  the 
perceptions  into  the  inner  sense  of  things,  often,  however, 
arresting  itself  and  the  spectator  on  the  threshold  of  the 
soul,  or,  worse,  degenerating  into  materialism,  from  exag- 
geration of  its  tendencies  to  copy  and  fondness  for  portrai- 
ture ; the  other,  if  excessive,  vague,  insipid,  and  rude,  yet 
in  its  superior  estate  lovely  and  captivating,  speaking  to  us 
as  by  disembodied  spirits,  effulgent  with  unutterable  joys.# 

* PI.  B,  fig.  6,  is  a favorable  specimen  of  mystic  art.  The  subject  is  the  “ As- 
sumption of  the  Virgin. ” It  is  of  the  school  of  Siena  and  akin  to  the  works  of 
the  Lorinzetti.  The  rapt  devotion  and  happiness  that  surpasseth  speech  of  the 
Madonna  are  beautifully  rendered,  and  in  the  picture  itself  the  tones  of  color  are 
as  clear  and  bright  as  crystal,  suggesting  an  atmosphere  of  beatitude. 


EPIC  AND  LYRIC  STYLES. 


m 

We  must  not  be  seduced  into  an  inordinate  fondness  for 
either  form.  Perfect  art  demands  the  harmonious  union 
of  the  attributes  of  each.  Spiritual  truth  and  beauty  need 
to  be  wedded  to  beauty  and  truth  of  external  shape.  But 
with  the  exception  of  a few  great  names,  artists  of  the  pe- 
riod in  question  have  rarely  given  us  well-balanced  art. 
This  will  not  surprise  us,  when  we  reflect  how  seldom 
these  diverging  principles  of  humanity,  the  practical  and 
ideal,  are  harmoniously  tempered  in  one  individual. 

In  religious  art,  the  Epic  style  may  be  termed  its  speech ; 
the  Lyric,  its  song.  This  distinction,  like  all  generalities, 
is  far  from  perfect.  Its  difficulty  is  enhanced  by  the  com- 
prehensive genius  of  many  artists,  who,  in  the  unfoldings 
of  their  varied  faculties,  disclosed  themselves  with  almost 
equal  facility  in  either  style.  Still,  in  general  the  discrimi- 
nation will  hold  good,  and  in  making  use  of  it,  we  shall  be 
guided  by  the  prevalent  tone  of  composition  of  each  artist, 
content  to  approximate  to  correctness,  where  it  is  impos- 
sible to  be  infallible  in  judgment. 

Taking  Giotto,  therefore,  for  the  representation  and  start- 
ing-point of  the  new-born  Progress,  we  design  to  trace  his 
influence  through  a brilliant  succession  of  disciples,  who 
adopted  his  style,  improving  in  details  or  varying  some- 
what in  mental  character,  but  never  differing  sufficiently  as  a 
whole  or  so  surpassing  him  in  invention  or  genius  as  to  form 
a new  school  of  progress,  until  Masaccio  and  his  followers 
extinguished  gold  backgrounds,  and  gave  the  final  victory 
over  mysticism  and  purism  to  absolute  naturalism,  creating 
art  as  it  were  anew,  upon  the  basis  of  science,  with  entire 
freedom  of  choice,  though  religious  motives  still  held 
powerful  sway  for  some  time  longer. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  Epic  successors  of  Giotto.  Pietro  Cavallini  of  Rome,  1259-1344.  Buffal- 
macco,  the  Buffoon,  fid.  1300.  His  Works  and  Jokes.  Stefano,  1305-1350,  the 
Premature.  Giottino,  1324-1368,  the  Martyr.  Puccio  Capanna,  the  oldest 
scholar  of  Giotto.  Angelo  Gaddi,  1324-1390,  the  Merchant-painter.  Antonio 
Yenizano,  Giovanni  da  Milano,  and  Erancesco  da  Yolterra.  Niccola  di  Pie- 
tro, 1390.  Bruno,  1350.  Gherado  Stamina,  1354-1408.  Cennino  Cennini, 
fid.  1400,  the  Author  and  Enthusiast.  His  Maxims,  Piety,  and  Poverty.  The 
Bicci  family.  Decadence  of  Giottesque  style  into  Manufacture.  The  Giot- 
teschi  of  Padua  and  Bologna.  Andrea  Orgagna,  1329-1376,  the  Archangel. 
Bernardo,  his  Brother.  The  Spirit  of  Pear  and  Revenge  in  Politics  and  Art  of 
the  Mediae valists.  The  Pride  and  Ambition  of  the  Elorentines — their  dia- 
bolical Amusements.  Their  Artistic  Hell — its  Origin — how  Peopled.  Low 
side  of  Orgagna’s  Art.  His  Imaginative  Power.  Spinello  Aretino,  1308- 
1400,  the  Good.  Frightened  to  death  by  a Yision.  His  noble  Character. 
Parri,  his  Son.  “ The  Lot  of  the  False  Tongue.” 


Of  the  immediate  succession  to  Giotto,  the  artists  in 
whom  the  Epic  feeling  predominated  will  first  engage  our 
attention.  It  will  be  necessary  to  notice  those  only  who 
are  particularly  eminent ; for  were  we  merely  to  name  all 
of  the  common  herd  who  found  employment  and  some  de- 
gree of  local  consideration  in  this  prolific  period  of  art,  it 
would  cumber  this  work,  without  benefit  in  return,  even  to 
the  most  prolix  inquirer.  Their  works  partake  of  the 
character  of  manufacture,  at  the  best  never  surpass  medioc- 
rity, and  were  created  to  supply  the  most  ordinary  demands 
of  devotion  and  at  the  cheapest  rates.  There  were  regis- 
tered in  Florence  alone,  in  1300,  more  than  one  hundred 
painters  of  this  character.  Each  hamlet  and  petty  town  had 
its  liberal  supply.  Ever  since,  Tuscany  has  kept  up  her 
quantity,  though  not  her  quality,  of  artists,  so  that  she  still 


UNKNOWN  ARTISTS. 


151 


affords  an  inexhaustible  quarry  of  pictures,  ancient  and  mod- 
ern, of  the  decorative  or  worthless  class,  while  of  the 
souvenirs  of  her  sons  of  genius  there  remains  but  scant 
supply  for  the  stranger  to  glean.  Among  such,  however, 
and  in  her  galleries,  we  find  examples  of  great  merit,  whose 
pedigree  is  wholly  lost,  but  whose  claims  to  consideration 
are  second  only  to  those  of  the  best-known  masters ; and 
however  much  enjoyment  we  may  receive  from  a work  of 
art  intrinsically,  there  is  always  a certain  disappointment  in 
not  being  able  to  identify  it  with  its  author. 

An  attractive  example  of  anonymous  painting  of  the 
earliest  period  after  Giotto  is  to  be  seen  in  the  Academy  of 
Florence,  No.  14,  an  altar-piece  of  virgin  purity,  repre- 
senting the  Vision  of  St.  Bernard.  It  is  divided  into  three 
parts,  with  a “ gradino,”  containing  six  scenes  from  the 
lives  of  the  saints  figured  in  the  upper  portion,  and  above 
the  whole,  the  usual  composition  of  the  Annunciation.  For- 
merly this  picture  was  attributed  to  Giottino,  but  it  has 
scarcely  anything  in  common  with  him.  Lord  Lindsay 
suggests  for  it  Antonio  Veneziano,  though  on  no  satisfac- 
tory grounds.  It  is,  however,  worthy  of  either  master. 
St.  Bernard  kneels  at  his  desk  in  the  garden  of  the  monas- 
tery, with  his  pen  in  hand.  Looking  up,  he  beholds  the 
Virgin,  attended  by  angels,  floating  in  the  air  and  coming 
towards  him.  A glorious  vision  ! Immaculate  purity,  ethe- 
real grace,  and  spiritual  significance  have  seldom  been  more 
chastely  and  beautifully  harmonized  in  colors  and  outline 
than  in  this  group,  charming  beyond  words  to  express,  and 
bathed  in  celestial  light  and  love.  The  Virgin  is  distin- 
guished even  among  the  host  of  heaven  by  her  superior  dig- 
nity and  beauty.  Purity  and  strength  of  tints  are  made  to 
correspond  to  the  holiness  of  the  subject.  Although  in 
broad  daylight,  we  perceive  the  sun’s  rays  are  dim  in  con- 


1 52 


PIETRO  CAVALLIM. 


trast  with  the  intense  effulgence  which  emanates  from  the 
visitors  from  Paradise.  With  the  purism  of  Fra  An- 
gelico, the  central  portion  of  this  picture  combines  the 
breadth  and  grandeur  of  Orgagna. 

Senior  in  age  to  Giotto  was  Pietro  Cavallini,  of  Rome, 
(1&59-134T,)  at  first  a respectable  mosaicist  of  the  degen- 
erated Italico-Byzantine  type,  but  subsequently  an  assistant 
to  Giotto,  from  whom  he  imbibed  so  much  of  the  spirit  of 
progress  as  to  win  for  himself  a distinguished  name  for 
noble  composition  and  masterly  execution.  Little  of  his 
work  remains  beside  the  injured  fresco  of  the  Crucifixion 
in  the  Lower  Church  of  St.  Francis  at  Assisi,  painted  for 
Walter,  Duke  of  Athens.  From  its  having  elicited  the 
praise  of  Michel  Angelo,  we  perceive  what  qualities  were 
most  conspicuous  in  it,  in  its  prime.  Cavallini’s  imagina- 
tion was  of  a lofty,  mystic  cast ; the  doctrine  of  the  Incar- 
nation of  the  Word  being  his  chief  inspiration,  and  the 
Annunciation  his  favorite  theme.  His  faith  overflowed  in 
his  works.  He  was  fervent  in  religious  duties,  and  chari- 
table to  the  poor^  to  a degree  that  gained  for  him,  while  liv- 
ing, the  reputation  of  a saint,  and  after  his  death  several  of 
his  pictures  underwent  in  popular  estimation  a sort  of  can- 
onization, and  were  accounted  miraculous.  Beloved  and  re- 
spected by  every  class,  the  pious  painter  survived  to  his 
eighty-fifth  year,  and  his  mortal  remains  were  laid  under 
the  shadows  of  the  frescoes  and  mosaics  with  which  he  had 
so  feelingly  adorned  the  Roman  basilica  of  St.  Paul.  The 
easel  pictures  attributed  to  him  have  the  breadth  and  sweep 
of  fresco  painting,  and  evince  a predilection  for  large  work, 
founded  upon  deep  sentiment. 

In  striking  contrast  of  character  to  him,  though  no  less 
remarkable  as  an  artist,  was  Buonamico  di  Cristofano, 
commonly  remembered  as  Buffalmacco ; either  epithet  well 


BUFFALMACCO. 


158 


characterizing  him,  for  he  was  both  “ a good  fellow  ” and 
a “ buffoon  or  wit,”  everybody’s  boon  companion  and  friend, 
and  no  one’s  enemy  but  his  own.  In  some  respects  he  was 
a rival  to  Giotto.  But  great  as  were  his  talents  as  an  ar- 
tist, his  fame  is  more  widely  known  by  his  facetiousness, 
which  Sacchetti  has  preserved  in  his  merry  tales. 

He  was  born  at  Florence  towards  the  latter  part  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  and  we  hear  of  him  as  alive  in  1351. 
He  established  his  reputation  as  an  artist  contemporane- 
ously with  Giotto,  but  was  altogether  of  too  independent  a 
disposition,  with  too  marked  individuality  of  style,  ever  to 
have  been  one  of  his  pupils.  In  general,  he  adhered  to 
Byzantine  motives,  vitalizing  them  by  a spirit  as  daringly 
eccentric  and  humorous  as  it  was  foreign  to  the  tone  of 
mind  of  the  age.  He  stands  by  himself  among  the  early 
religious  masters,  not  impious,  heretical,  or  sensual,  but 
so  alive  to  the  ludicrous,  and  so  bizarre  in  his  tastes,  that 
often  these  qualities  got  the  better  of  the  solemn  proprie- 
ties of  his  subjects;  and  he  left  examples  in  his  art  of  low, 
familiar,  or  incongruous  accessories,  such  as  in  a later  and 
less  devout  age  were  introduced  anew  into  the  composi- 
tions of  many  artists,  especially  the  great  Venetians,  Tin- 
toretto and  Paul  Veronese.  But  we  can  forgive  his  making 
St.  Luke  with  swollen  cheeks  in  the  undignified  act  of 
blowing  the  ink  from  his  pen,  an  old  man  blowing  his 
nose  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  mothers  biting  and  scratching 
in  their  rage  during  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents,  and 
like  innovations  complained  of  by  old  writers,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  original  thought  and  natural  sympathies  he  often 
displayed.  His  works  are  bold,  full  of  varied  action,  fig- 
ures long,  thin,  and  graceful,  with  round,  full  faces,  like 
the  better  Byzantine,  and  so  intensely  expressive  as  often 
to  border  on  caricature.  Although  Buffalmacco  was  capa- 


154 


BUFFALMACCO  S ARK. 


ble  of  feeling  the  force  of  sacred  motives,  yet  his  supera- 
bundant humor  would  force  itself  into  his  paintings  despite 
his  better  judgment,  and  display  itself  in  quaint  caprices, 
reminding  one  of  the  naive,  homely  naturalism  and  eccen- 
tricities of  the  Teutonic  schools. 

In  his  u History  of  Adam,”  in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa, 
the  Almighty  having  created  the  father  of  mankind,  takes 
him  by  the  hand  and  points  to  the  forbidden  fruit.  Adam 
has  donned  the  fig-leaf  in  anticipation  of  his  discovery  of 
his  nakedness.  In  another  portion,  we  perceive  Eve  naked, 
whom  the  Creator  drags  out  of  Adam’s  side,  he  sleeping 
soundly  the  while,  on  a bed  of  flowers  beside  a Roman 
fountain , in  which  birds  are  drinking  and  sporting.  Fi- 
nally, having  sinned,  Adam  delves,  clad  in  sheepskins  tied 
about  him  with  grape-vines,  a serpent  near  by  coiling  for  a 
spring  at  his  bare  legs,  while  Eve,  also  in  a sheepskin  toilet, 
sitting  near  by  with  Cain  on  her  lap,  has  just  put  down  her 
distaff'  to  caress  her  babe.  He  thus  tells  the  origin  of  in- 
dustry and  domestic  life,  with  happy  symbolism,  graphic 
exactness,  and  pathetic  simplicity. 

Buff'almacco’s  vitality  of  expression  is  very  striking  in 
the  group  of  women  curiously  watching  the  building  of 
Noah’s  ark,  one  of  the  same  series  of  compositions  attrib- 
uted to  him.  The  workmen  are  too  intently  engaged  to 
notice  their  visitors.  The  way  they  lean  upon  the  timbers, 
clinging  to  and  peering  into  the  skeleton  frame  of  the  mon- 
ster vessel,  with  the  question  “ What  can  these  fools  be 
about  ” legible  on  their  jeering  countenances,  is  wonderfully 
fine.  Indeed  for  earnestness,  grouping,  and  naivete,  this 
composition  is  superior  to  Raphael’s  of  the  same  sceue. 
Near  it  is  Buff'almacco’s  celebrated  u Crucifixion,”  which  em- 
bodies bis  merits  and  demerits.  It  is  cut  up  into  isolated 
groups,  and  disfigured  by  exaggerated  action,  the  grief  of 


TAFl’s  FRIGHT. 


155 


the  women  bordering-  on  caricature.  But  the  gestures  and 
looks  of  despair,  with  which  the  good  angel  resigns  the 
soul  of  the  impenitent  thief  to  the  vile  demons  who  are 
already  fighting  over  their  prey,  are  very  touching.  The 
glad  expression  of  the  angel  receiving  the  penitent  thief 
is  also  masterly.  Both  their  souls  are  represented  as 
new-born  infants.  Individual  heads  are  fine,  but  through- 
out the  picture  there  is  too  much  wildness  and  confusion. 
His  facility  of  invention  was  extraordinary,  but  time  has 
preserved  only  a few  specimens  of  his  work.  This  loss 
is  partly  due  to  himself,  for  beside  being  inclined  to 
the  hasty  and  superficial,  as  all  such  vivid  geniuses  are, 
trusting  more  to  sudden  inspiration  than  to  diligent  study, 
he  often  prepared  his  colors  so  carelessly  that  his  pictures 
quickly  fell  to  pieces,  while,  on  all  occasions,  he  preferred  a 
joke  to  success  in  art. 

His  master,  Andrea  Tafi,  had  the  habit  of  rising  long 
before  daybreak  to  paint,  requiring  Buffalmacco  to  do  like- 
wise. This  was  quite  foreign  to  his  taste,  so  he  cast  about 
him  for  some  device  to  put  an  end  to  it.  Catching  thirty 
large  beetles,  he  contrived  to  attach  to  their  backs  as  many 
little  candles.  Just  before  the  hour  Tafi  was  accustomed 
to  call  him,  he  lighted  them,  and  let  the  beetles  loose  in  his 
master’s  chamber.  No  sooner  did  Tafi  see  the  numerous 
lights  on  such  ugly-looking  creatures,  magnified  by  the 
dark  and  his  fears,  than  he  began  to  tremble,  “ like  an  old 
goose  as  he  was,”  repeat  his  prayers,  and  to  call  upon  God 
to  protect  him,  putting  his  head  under  the  bedclothes,  where, 
too  frightened  to  call  his  pupil,  he  remained  breathless  the 
rest  of  the  night.  In  the  morning  he  asked  Buffalmacco 
if,  like  him,  he  had  seen  a thousand  devils  crawling  about 
the  room  % “ No,”  replied  the  trickster,  “ I slept  soundly 

all  night,  and  upon  waking  wondered  greatly  you  had  not 
called  me  up  to  work  as  usual.” 


156 


THE  APE-PAINTER. 


“ What,  to  work  !”  exclaimed  the  still  quaking  Tafi,  “ I 
have  other  thoughts  in  my  head  than  work.  I am  deter- 
mined to  find  another  house.” 

The  next  night  Buffalmacco  put  three  only  of  his  insect 
conspirators  into  the  room.  Poor  Tafi,  with  the  vision  of 
the  preceding  night  still  vivid  in  his  memory,  seeing  other 
demons  come,  could  not  sleep  a wink,  and  as  soon  as  it 
was  daybreak  left  the  house,  vowing  never  to  return  to  it 
again.  His  pupil  sent  the  priest  of  his  parish  to  console 
and  persuade  him  to  come  back.  Afterwards  in  talking 
over  the  extraordinary  phenomena  with  Tafi,  he  explained 
it  to  him  as  follows : “ I have  heard  it  said  that  the 

greatest  enemies  of  God  are  the  devils ; consequently  they 
are  great  enemies  of  the  painters,  because  we  make  them 
as  ugly  as  possible,  and  out  of  spite  to  them,  and  holy  saints 
as  beautiful  as  can  be.  In  consequence,  the  demons  hav- 
ing more  power  by  night  than  by  day  come  to  torment 
us.  Worse  things  will  happen  if  we  do  not  put  an  end 
entirely  to  this  habit  of  early  watching.”  Not  only  was 
Tafi  cured  of  his  nocturnal  industry,  but,  the  story  getting 
abroad,  for  a long  while  none  others  dared  to  work  by 
night. 

Buffalmacco  was  employed  by  Bishop  Guido  of  Arezzo 
to  paint  a chapel.  The  bishop  had  a pet  ape,  which  always 
watched  the  artist  closely  while  at  work,  especially  in  mix- 
ing colors.  One  Monday  morning,  on  returning  to  the 
chapel,  Buffalmacco  saw  that  his  work  had  been  daubed 
over  in  the  strangest  manner,  and  utterly  ruined.  Sup- 
posing it  to  be  the  envious  mischief  of  some  rival,  who 
wished  to  prejudice  him  with  his  patron,  he  restored  his 
picture,  and,  complaining  to  the  bishop,  obtained  a guard 
of  soldiers  to  watch  for  any  other  attempt,  with  orders  to 
execute  summary  justice  upon  the  offender.  Buffalmacco 
also  put  himself  in  ambush.  He  had  not  been  long  con- 


BUFFALMACCO  S JOKES. 


157 


cealed  before  the  ape  made  his  appearance,  mounted  the 
scaffold,  took  up  his  palette  and  brushes,  mixed  his  colors 
together  in  his  own  fashion,  and  fell  to  work  vigorously, 
repainting  his  saints.  The  artist,  delighted  with  his  dis- 
covery, as  soon  as  his  violent  laughter  would  permit,  went 
straight  to  the  bishop,  saying,  “ Monsignore,  you  wish 
that  I should  paint  after  one  method ; but  your  ape  desires 
another.  There  was  no  need  for  you  to  send  to  a foreign 
city  for  a master,  seeing  that  you  have  one  already  in  the 
house  who  knows  his  business  so  well ; so,  with  your  per- 
mission, I will  go  back  to  Florence.” 

On  another  occasion,  having  painted  a Madonna  with 
the  infant  Christ  in  her  arms,  for  a peasant,  who  essayed 
to  pay  him  with  promises  in  lieu  of  cash,  Buffalmacco  with 
water-colors  changed  the  Christ  into  a sack  of  gold.  No 
sooner  did  the  countryman  discover  the  transmutation  than 
he  hastened  in  pious  horror  to  the  wag  of  the  brush,  and 
besought  him  to  take  away  the  money-bag  and  replace  the 
Saviour,  and  he  would  pay  him  at  once.  This  being  done, 
a wet  sponge  in  a moment  restored  the  picture  to  its  prim- 
itive condition.  Upon  a similar  provocation  from  some 
one  else,  he  is  charged  with  having  painted  a young  bear, 
instead  of  the  baby  Jesus,  in  the  arms  of  his  immaculate 
mother.  From  which  anecdotes  it  would  seem  that  liber- 
ties might  be  taken  with  sacred  subjects  with  impunity  in 
the  face  of  the  pope,  which,  if  they  had  occurred  in  Spain 
when  art  was  rife,  would  have  consigned  their  author  to 
the  fagots  of  the  Inquisition. 

Some  nuns  commissioned  from  him  an  historical  paint- 
ing, which,  when  finished,  pleased  them  greatly,  except 
that  they  thought  the  faces  were  wan  and  colorless.  Buf- 
falmacco, knowing  that  the  lady  abbess  had  a store  of  Ver- 
muccia,  a delicate  wine  reserved  for  the  nuns,  told  them  he 


158 


BUFFALMACCO  S JOKES. 


could  remedy  the  defect  only  by  mixing  his  colors  with 
it ; then  the  cheeks  would  become  rosy  enough.  The 
simple  sisters  gladly  gave  him  a liberal  supply  of  their 
very  best  for  this  purpose,  which  had  the  effect  to  make 
one  countenance,  at  least,  of  a ruby  tone.  One  day  an 
inquisitive  nun  surprised  him  drinking  it.  She  called  out 
to  the  others  44  See,  now,  he  is  taking  it  himself;  ” but  the 
sharp-witted  artist  immediately  ejected  it  from  his  mouth 
upon  the  picture,  which  made  the  act  seem  all  right  and 
proper  to  them. 

The  citizens  of  Perugia  had  ordered  of  him  a St.  Erco- 
lano,  their  protector,  to  be  painted  in  the  market-place. 
During  the  work,  they  vexed  him  excessively  by  their  im- 
patient curiosity.  To  revenge  himself,  he  had  a scaffold- 
ing built  so  as  to  hide  the  picture,  and,  having  finished  it 
in  private,  he  replaced  the  golden  diadem  of  the  saint  by  a 
coronet  of  gudgeons,  paid  his  hill  at  the  inn,  and  quietly 
left  for  Florence.  The  Perugians,  soon  missing  him,  and 
discovering  the  affront,  sent  off’  horsemen  in  pursuit,  with 
orders  to  kill  him.  But  as  he  had  already  crossed  their 
frontiers,  he  jeered  them  for  their  pains,  and  left  them  to 
go  home  and  put  up  with  the  indignity  to  their  saint  as 
they  best  might. 

Thus  he  went  on,  playing  foolish  pranks,  and  joking  his 
honors  and  genius  away,  to  the  amusement  of  his  neigh- 
bors, but  sadly  to  his  own  loss  in  all  that  makes  a man 
truly  wise  and  provident.  At  seventy-eight  years  old  or 
upwards,  the  inveterate  trickster  and  spendthrift,  his  merry 
race  run,  found  himself  a penniless,  dying  wretch,  broken 
down  with  bodily  infirmities,  owing  to  public  charity  the 
bed  upon  which  he  died,  and  the  rude  coffin  into  which  his 
remains  were  hurriedly  put,  to  be  as  carelessly  tumbled 
into  the  common  grave  of  the  friendless  poor.  A pitiful 


STEFANO. 


159 


ending  of  great  gifts,  which,  if  better  regulated,  might 
have  secured  to  him  equal  esteem  and  a like  honorable  sep- 
ulchre with  Pietro  Cavallini.  This  manner  of  life  was, 
however,  rare  among  the  old  masters.  He  left  one  pupil, 
Giovanni  dal  Ponte  (1807— 1365),  whom  he  initiated  so 
fully  into  his  ways  that  he  speedily  ran  through  a good 
fortune,  without,  however,  like  his  master,  leaving  any- 
thing behind  him  to  counterbalance  his  folly. 

The  mantle  of  Giotto’s  genius,  passing  over  his  direct 
progeny,  descended  upon  his  nephew,  Stefano  (1305- 
1350),  who,  if  we  may  credit  Ghiberti  and  Vasari,  rare 
judges  either,  displayed  not  only  all  the  qualities  which 
made  his  uncle  great,  but  added  to  them  those  elements  of 
naturalism,  which,  two  generations  later,  were  so  admirably 
developed  by  Masaccio.  He  seems  to  have  anticipated  by 
nearly  a century  the  tendency  of  art  in  this  direction,  for 
he  improved  it  so  much  in  its  then  defective  points  of  per- 
spective, foreshortening,  and  anatomy,  closely  following 
the  actual  in  all  his  details,  that  his  contemporaries,  partly 
in  admiration  and  perhaps  as  much  in  derision  of  his 
technical  innovations,  nicknamed  him  “ the  monkey  of  na- 
ture.” This,  in  its  worst  sense,  would  intimate  that  he 
aimed  at  minute  finish,  and  loved  the  subordinate  decora- 
tions and  imitations  that  belong  more  particularly  to  Ger- 
man taste.  But  in  the  then  comparatively  rude  condition 
of  design,  any  sudden  improvement,  varying  from  the  pre- 
vailing style  and  sentiment,  would  have  caused  both  discus- 
sion and  astonishment.  He  loved  the  familiar  truths  of 
home-life.  In  making  his  holy  personages  less  sacredly 
ideal,  he  brought  them  nearer  to  the  natural  affections ; 
and,  like  many  of  Raphael’s,  his  Madonnas  were  more 
maternal  than  divine.  One  he  represents  sewing ; a do- 
mestic motive  which  then  found  no  imitators.  His  talents 


160 


STEFANO. 


were  not  limited  simply  to  the  introduction  of  pleasing 
motives  and  successful  imitation.  He  was  even  more  re- 
markable, so  those  say  who  saw  his  works,  for  copiousness 
of  invention,  sweetness,  grace,  and  spirituality,  surpassing 
in  these  qualities  all  his  contemporaries.  Nothing,  how- 
ever, remains  of  his  pencil,  except  a fragment  of  a paint- 
ing attributed  to  him  in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa,  a half- 
figure of  St.  Thomas  d’Aquinas,  and  the  ruined  repainted 
u Crucifixion  ” in  the  cloisters  of  Sta.  Maria  Novella  at  Flor- 
ence. The  landscape  of  the  last  indicates  a breadth  and 
naturalness  quite  foreign  to  the  art  of  his  epoch.  But  it  is 
now  impossible  to  tell  how  much  of  this  character  it  owes 
to  the  repainting  of  later  times.  Evidently,  the  world  of 
art  was  not  prepared  for  Stefano  ; or  else  so  much 
genius  could  not  have  made  so  transient  an  impression. 
In  the  natural  course  of  things,  Stefano  seems  to  have 
been  the  one  to  carry  forward  the  Progress  begun  by 
Giotto,  taking  it  up  where  he  left  it,  and  adding  those 
qualities  which  should  have  ripened  next  in  progressive 
order  of  development.  Notwithstanding  the  enthusiasm 
with  which  they  were  welcomed,  they  disappeared  for  a 
while  with  him.  It  is  likely,  however,  that  genuine  appre- 
ciation did  not  occur  until  the  sympathetic * Ghiberti 
(1373-1455)  saw  and  made  known  his  peculiar  merit,  of 
which,  down  to  Vasari’s  time,  there  remained  sufficient 
evidence  to  elicit  from  him  confirmatory  praise,  and  the 
special  declaration  that  Stefano  “ disegno  molto  meglio  die 
Giotto .” 

The  failure  of  Stefano  to  endow  painting  with  his  richer 
gifts  and  his  sensitive  feeling  for  nature,  was  undoubtedly 
owing  to  the  fervor  of  the  religious  mind,  and  the  influ- 

* He  writes  “ L’opere  di  costui  sono  molto  mirdbile ; fatti  con  grandissima  dot- 
ti'ina.”  — Lemonier’s  Vasari,  vol.  i.  p.  xix. 


FAILURE  OF  STEFANO. 


161 


ence  which  it  still  exercised  over  art.  Giotto  had,  indeed, 
imbued  it  with  fresh  life.  But  his  power,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  chiefly  dramatic,  and  more  in  suggestion  of 
nobler  forms  than  in  their  technical  perfection  of  design. 
He  bad  quickened  painting  with  new  motives,  deeper 
thought,  and  more  earnest,  carefully  studied  execution. 
Its  range  was  concentrated  on  comparatively  few  topics, 
with  a corresponding  intensity  and  purity  of  sentiment. 
The  idea  to  be  conveyed  was  always  uppermost  in  the 
master’s  mind.  Hence  the  energies  of  art  were  directed 
to  that  point.  And  this  is  the  right  beginning  and  highest 
aim  of  art.  In  this  age,  we  cannot  too  positively  impress 
this  upon  the  artistic  mind.  When  we  perceive  spirit  over- 
mastering sense,  art  demands  and  receives  from  every 
rightly  instructed  mind  a large  measure  of  forgiveness  for 
technical  mistakes  and  manual  deficiencies.  It  is,  indeed, 
a great  triumph  for  an  artist  if  he  can,  through  feeling,  so 
absorb  attention  that  the  perceptive  faculties  take  faint  heed 
of  defects  of  execution.  The  best  art  can  never  fully  sat- 
isfy the  cravings  of  spirit.  There  is  always  an  horizon 
of  undefinable  superiority  and  deeper  meaning  beyond. 
Hence  its  power  of  repose  must  rest  mainly  on  its  perfect 
suggestion  — the  evidence  it  gives  our  senses  of  things 
unseen.  Still  our  satisfaction  is  increased  if  we  find  that, 
in  addition,  science  has  extorted  from  nature  her  cunning 
of  design,  seduction  of  color,  and  truth  of  details,  harmo- 
nizing them  into  an  eloquent,  sympathetic  whole.  Evident- 
ly, this  was  the  ambition  of  Stefano.  But  popular  taste 
and  professional  knowledge  not  being  ripe  for  the  improve- 
ments he  pointed  out,  progress  in  this  direction  was  stayed 
for  half  a century  longer.  Therefore,  in  passing  judgment 
upon  the  current  art  of  the  Giotteschi,  we  need  not  expect 
of  it  an  excellence  in  naturalism  which  it  nowise  sought  or 


162 


GIOTTINO. 


claimed,  and  of  which  the  example  of  Stefano  produced  no 
immediate  fruit. 

If  further  confirmation  be  needed  of  the  premature  ap- 
pearance of  Stefano  in  the  world  of  painting,  we  find  it  in 
the  life  of  his  son  Tommaso  (13^4-1368),  otherwise 
known  as  Giottino.  His  works  are  rare  in  number  and  in 
merit ; thoroughly  Giottesque  in  sentiment,  with  greater 
force  of  coloring  and  superior  delicacy  of  design,  the  natu- 
ral result  of  practice  and  experience  in  the  same  direction. 
Beside  the  exquisite  finish  of  some  of  the  ornamental  de- 
tails, there  is  nothing  to  recall  what  the  critics  especially 
praised  in  the  style  of  his  father,  while  in  all  other  re- 
spects there  is  so  close  a resemblance  to  Giotto  as  to  be- 
get for  him,  in  the  popular  opinion,  the  touching  fancy 
that  the  soul  of  his  great  predecessor  had  reappeared  on 
earth  in  his  form.  Hence  his  name,  Giottino,  or  little 
Giotto. 

But  his  disposition  was  as  unlike  to  Giotto’s  as  his  gen- 
ius was  similar.  He  was  a solitary  and  melancholy  man  ; 
making  art  a passion ; knowing  no  life  outside  of  it ; in- 
different to  ease  and  money ; always  poor,  neglectful  of 
self ; a great  soul,  pining  for  appreciation  and  striving  for 
excellence  ; avid  of  fame,  yet  morbidly  sensitive  to  the  con- 
tact of  the  world.  Hying  early  of  consumption,  he  wins 
our  sympathies  both  by  the  sadness  of  his  days  and  the 
beauty  of  his  paintings.  How  many  similar  souls  have 
been  crushed  out  of  earth  from  lack  of  physical  stamina 
to  contend  with  its  ills,  or  from  a solitariness  of  life,  com- 
bined with  utter  unselfishness  and  enthusiastic  devotion 
to  some  noble  pursuit,  which  finally  consumed  the  hearts 
that  fed  it ! Thus  it  happened  to  Giottino.  Alas  for  our- 
selves ! 

The  best  remaining  frescoes  of  his  are  the  unique  tomb 


/' 


■ 


GIOTTINO. 


163 


of  Ubertino  di  Bardi  and  the  “Life  of  St.  Silvester”  in  the 
Bardi  chapel  of  Santa  Croce  at  Florence.  The  conception 
of  the  former  is  noble  and  hauntingly  impressive.  Giot- 
tino  represents  the  warrior  rising  from  out  of  a richly 
sculptured  marble  sarcophagus.  With  hands  clasped  in 
prayer,  and  face  uplifted  in  joyful  hope,  his  person  visible 
to  his  waist,  he  has  just  awakened  to  the  sound  of  the 
judgment  trumpets  blown  by  two  angels,  who  look  expect- 
ingly  down  upon  him  ; while  the  lofty  mountain  peaks,  so 
naked  and  stern,  the  images  of  desolation,  which  form  the 
background  of  the  scene,  recall  the  memories  of  those 
who,  in  fear  and  anguish,  emerging  from  their  unhallowed 
graves,  are  about  to  call  upon  the  rocks  to  fall  upon  and 
hide  them  from  the  eye  of  the  Avenging  Judge.  Christ 
sits  majestically  upon  the  clouds.  Not  the  denunciatory, 
furious  Judge  of  Michel  Angelo,  but  the  sorrowful,  com- 
passionate Son  of  Man,  slioiving  his  wounds , come  to  close 
the  last  act  of  the  Eternal  Drama,  with  an  angelic  host, 
bearing  about  him  the  instruments  of  his  earthly  passion,  as 
a condemnatory  spectacle  to  all  guilty  souls,  and  the  tokens 
of  salvation  to  such  as  are  sealed  by  his  blood.  It  is  a 
Christian  monument  in  the  truest  sense.  The  architectural 
portion  is  majestic  and  beautiful ; full  of  appropriate  and 
rich  detail,  singularly  harmonious  in  its  proportions,  prov- 
ing Tommaso’s  rare  skill  in  sculpture,  but,  above  all,  his 
daring,  original,  and  graphic  thought,  and  just  conception 
of  “ I am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.”  Indeed,  in  sim- 
plicity and  effectiveness  it  attains  the  sublime. 

Giottino  was  able  to  combine  in  a small  space,  and  with 
but  few  means,  a wonderful  fulness  of  meaning,  as  we  per- 
ceive in  his  little  easel-picture  of  the  “ Nativity  and  Resur- 
rection ” (pi.  C,  fig.  7)  merged  into  one  scene  ; the  birth 
and  triumph  of  Christianity;  the  rising  Saviour  proclaim- 


164 


ANGELO  GADDI. 


ing  the  gift  of  immortal  life  to  those  who  believe  in  his 
divine  origin  and  mission. 

The  pupil  longest  with  Giotto,  dying  an  old  man  in 
1348,  was  Puccio  Capanna,  of  Assisi.  He  had  not  suf- 
ficient talent  to  rise  to  any  originality  of  thought  or  style, 
although  he  repeated  Giotto  with  considerable  feeling. 
His  execution  was  somewhat  mannered.  The  convent 
of  St.  Francis  at  Pistoja  contains  his  best  frescoes. 

Of  more  importance  is  Angelo  Gaddi  (13&4— 1390), 
son  of  the  more  distinguished  Taddeo.  Partaking  of  the 
hereditary  talent  of  his  family,  his  tendency  was  to  the 
dramatic,  but  he  was  capricious  in  work,  very  unequal, 
doing  credit  to  his  name  when  he  saw  fit,  and,  quite  as 
often,  feeble  and  careless.  Though  with  the  power  of  an 
artist,  he  was  not  one  at  heart.  For  he  preferred  com- 
merce, by  which  he  vastly  increased  the  wealth  of  his  fam- 
ily, which  had  already  become  renowned  in  Florence  for  its 
fine  gallery  of  antique  sculpture,  medals,  pictures,  and  val- 
uable library.  Its  members  were  cultivated  aristocrats ; 
collecting,  patronizing,  or  practising  art,  as  the  whim 
prompted.  His  brother,  Giovanni,  was  also  a painter. 
Angelo  was  pale  in  color,  confused  in  composition,  the  re- 
sult of  haste  more  than  weakness,  yet  animated,  not  desti- 
tute of  grace,  and,  in  general,  forcible  in  expression.  One 
wearies  over  his  large  compositions,  like  those  of  theu  His- 
tory of  the  Cross  ” in  the  choir  of  Santa  Croce  at  Florence, 
from  their  want  of  repose  and  unity.  His  most  pleasing 
work,  with  more  warmth  of  color  than  usual,  is  in  the 
Chapel  of  the  Virgin  in  the  Prato  cathedral ; a romance 
m fresco  of  the  adventures  of  the  girdle  of  the  Madonna 
after  it  came  into  the  possession  of  Michele,  a youth  of 
Prato  who  visited  Palestine  in  1096,  until  its  final  deposit 
in  the  Duomo. 


ANTONIO  VENEZIANO. 


165 


Antonio  Veneziano  and  Giovanni  of  Milan,  who  flour- 
ished about  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  intro- 
duced Giotto’s  manner  into  their  native,  cities,  though  the 
former,  finding  Venice  uncongenial,  returned  to  Florence, 
where  he  was  warmly  welcomed  by  his  old  friends,  and 
ever  continued  to  be  highly  esteemed.  He  was  a scholar 
of  Angelo  Gaddi,  having  originally  come  from  Venice 
expressly  to  place  himself  under  his  instruction ; a connec- 
tion brought  about,  probably,  by  Angelo’s  commercial" rela- 
tions with  that  city.  His  frescoes  in  the  Campo  Santo  at 
Pisa  are  remarkable  for  their  richness  and  naturalness, 
while  those  of  Giovanni  at  Assisi  are  distinguished  for 
simplicity  of  composition,  warm,  delicate  coloring,  and 
general  gracefulness.  Both  artists  are  branches  of  the 
great  Giottesque  tree,  true  to  its  sap ; not,  even  by  grafting 
on  other  trunks,  changing  its  instinctive  qualities.  Anto- 
nio, however,  in  his  story  of  the  “ Miracles  of  San  Ranieri,” 
emancipates  himself  more  completely  from  mysticism  than 
any  other  of  the  great  successors  of  Giotto,  except  Stefano. 
But  his  naturalism  is  less  apparent  in  style  than  motive. 
Giovanni  cleaves  more  to  the  mystic  character  of  his 
school,  while  Antonio,  in  the  above-mentioned  composi- 
tions, displays  for  the  time  a rare  predilection  for  the 
homely,  united  to  a regard  for  historical  proprieties.  In- 
deed, in  his  better  qualities,  attempts  at  rendering  the  real- 
ism of  art  and  truthful  conceptions  of  character  as  it 
shapes  itself  in  daily  experience,  correct  and  picturesque 
story-telling,  he  suggests  Masaccio,  though  with  less  re- 
finement, more  action  and  humor,  and  a decided  liking  for 
the  introduction  of  ordinary  incidents  and  vulgar  common- 
places, by  way  of  contrast,  and  to  add  life  and  variety  to 
the  scene.  In  the  fresco  above  quoted,  witness  the  man 
so  intent  on  fishing,  evidently  just  feeling  a bite,  that  he 


166 


FRANCESCO  DA  VOLTERRA. 


sees  nothing  of  the  devil  in  the  shape  of  a monster  cat 
sitting  on  the  wine-cask  of  the  innkeeper  near  by.  Boni- 
face, a portly  pattern  of  his  scaly  tribe,  has  indignantly 
denied  the  charge  of  mixing  water  with  his  wine,  made 
by  St.  Ranieri.  Surrounded  by  his  customers,  he  looks 
on  with  hypocritical  astonishment,  in  which  the  cat-devil 
maliciously  joins,  while  the  saint,  holding  out  his  robe, 
bids  him  empty  into  it  a bottle  of  his  fraudulent  liquor. 
The  garment  operates  as  a miraculous  sieve,  letting  the 
water  fall  through  on  to  the  ground,  but  retaining  the 
very  small  proportion  of  pure  wine  contained  in  the  flask. 
The  saint  then  exhorts  him  to  abandon  his  dishonest  prac- 
tices, and  calls  his  attention  to  the  devil  watching  for  his 
soul.  In  another  part  of  the  picture  we  see  a lazy  fel- 
low stretched  out  on  the  ground,  and  sleeping  soundly. 
Throughout  his  compositions  there  is  an  admirable  di- 
versity of  action  and  character,  proving  Antonio  to  have 
been  a close  observer  of  human  nature. 

Francesco  da  Volterra’s  frescoes  of  the  “History  of  Job” 
in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa,  begun  a.  d.  1371,  were  attrib- 
uted to  Giotto,  until  Dr.  Ernst  Forster,  by  the  aid  of  pub- 
lic documents,  detected  tbe  error.  They  are  done  in  the 
spirit  of  that  master,  with  a decided  feeling  for  landscape. 
Francesco’s  compositions  are  grand,  copious,  and  graphic. 
He  is  specially  successful  in  his  treatment  of  the  powers 
of  the  unseen  world  ; the  hosts  of  heaven  and  hell,  which 
he  beautifully,  forcibly,  or  terrifically  conceives,  according 
to  the  attributes  appropriate  to  the  varied  powers  of  each. 
His  Almighty  is  dignified  and  grand,  suggested  more  than 
defined,  the  extremities  and  outlines  being  merged  as  it 
were  into  the  surrounding  canopy  of  clouds.  But  the 
ruined  condition  of  his  paintings,  and  their  injudicious  res- 
torations, leave  the  spectator  but  indifferent  opportunity  to 
enjoy  his  cultivated  mind. 


STARNINA. 


167 


Niccola  di  Pietro,  a Florentine,  painted  also  at  Pisa,  in 
1890,  and  left  frescoes  in  Sta.  Croce.  He,  too,  was  thor- 
oughly Giottesque,  with  much  dignity  and  solemnity  in  his 
best  work. 

Bruno,  a friend  of  Buffalmacco,  is  another  of  the  distin- 
guished series  of  artists  who  were  called  upon  to  illustrate 
the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa.  His  risen  Saviour,  triumphant- 
ly floating  in  the  air  with  attendant  angels,  is  nobly  con- 
ceived. Also  the  group  of  disciples  gazing  upon  him, 
realizing  fully  for  the  first  time,  as  the  angels  around  them, 
now  visible  to  their  eyes,  eagerly  point  up  to  their  common 
Lord,  the  glorious  mystery  of  immortal  life. 

Among  the  pupils  of  Antonio  Veneziano  we  find  Gherado 
Stamina  (1854-1408),  who  in  early  life  was  of  so  quar- 
relsome a disposition  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  Florence. 
He  found  refuge,  patronage,  and  improved  manners  among 
the  stately  and  dignified  Castilians.  So  urbane  did  he  be- 
come that  on  his  return  to  his  native  city  his  old  enemies 
warmly  welcomed  him,  and  gladly  numbered  themselves 
among  his  friends.  Very  little  has  reached  us  of  his  work. 
Enough,  however,  to  show  that  to  a high  degree  of  finish, 
delicate,  and  harmonious  coloring,  he  added  a refined  and 
spiritual  conception  of  character,  in  some  respects  foreshad- 
owing Fra  Angelico. 

Of  far  less  artistic  talent,  but  from  his  sincerity,  purity,  and 
misfortunes  more  interesting  in  his  life,  is  his  fellow-towns- 
man, Cennino  Cennini,  who  died  in  1487-  He  was  a pupil 
of  Angelo  Gaddi  and  his  inferior  in  style,  exaggerating  his 
faults  almost  to  caricature,  but  not  without  a certain  merit. 
Earnest  and  painstaking,  he  always  did  his  best,  showing 
that  nature  and  not  will  was  in  fault  in  his  not  becoming 
a great  artist.  Thorough,  conscientious,  and  elevated  in 
his  aims,  Cennini  deserves  sympathy  and  respect.  Nor  is 


168 


CENNINO  CENNIM. 


his  painting  destitute  of  merit,  notwithstanding  the  heavi- 
ness and  stiffness  of  many  of  his  figures,  particularly  the 
infant  Jesus,  in  the  easel  pictures  attributed  to  him,  and 
which  in  these  respects  recall  earlier  and  more  ignorant 
times.  In  a side  chapel  of  the  church  of  St.  Francesco  at 
Volterra  there  is  an  elaborate  fresco  of  the  “ Massacre  of  the 
Innocents,”  put  down  by  M.  Valery  to  one  Cenni  di  La 
Cenni,  otherwise  unknown,  but  which  from  its  very  faults 
would  seem  to  belong  to  Cennini. 

Cennini  is  better  known  by  his  “Treatise  upon  Painting,” 
numerous  editions  of  which  have  been  published  from  time 
to  time  in  various  European  languages,  one  as  recently  as 
1858  at  Paris.  It  is  a record  of  the  mechanism  of  the 
Giotteschi  ; Giotto  and  the  Gaddis  being  the  special  objects 
of  his  veneration.  He  lavishly  infuses  into  it  the  axioms, 
suggestions,  and  reflections  which  descended  to  him  by  tra- 
dition and  example,  and  which  were  consonant  with  his  own 
high-minded,  single-hearted,  scrupulous  nature.  His  little 
work  is  particularly  valuable  as  showing  the  moral  and 
physical  discipline  which  the  pious  thought  of  the  age 
considered  indispensable  to  the  proper  development  of  the 
Christian  artist,  and  the  high  regard  entertained  for  his  call- 
ing, especially  in  contrast  with  the  less  decorous  habits  and 
looser  principles  of  a later  epoch. 

He  draws  a forcible  distinction  between  those  who  are 
attracted  to  art  by  affinity  of  soul  and  those  who  take  to  it 
only  from  a sordid  desire  of  gain.  He  counsels  the  former 
to  secure  instruction  from  the  best  living  artists,  faithfully 
studying  their  methods,  and  benefiting  from  their  experience. 
Thirteen  years  he  allots  to  preliminary  studies  : one,  to 
elementary  drawing  ; six,  to  acquire  the  mechanism  of  art, 
which  in  those  days  of  gold  backgrounds,  grinding  and 
mixing  of  colors  by  the  artist  himself,  preparation  of  glues, 


ART-REGIMEN. 


169 


and  various  methods  a tempera”  or  44  fresco,”  was  no 
sinecure  labor ; and  the  remaining  six  to  the  practice  of 
composition. # Cennini,  like  Leonardo,  considered  that  a 
thorough  preparatory  discipline  and  knowledge  were  requi- 
site for  even  the  foundation  for  success.  Afterwards  he 
advises  the  pupil,  if  he  possess  any  original  power,  to  walk 
entirely  by  himself,  for  the  better  development  of  his  indi- 
viduality and  more  complete  freedom. 

To  preserve  the  senses  in  due  subjection  to  the  spirit,  he 
recommends  a light  diet,  two  meals  only  daily,  with  a mod- 
erate allowance  of  weak  wine.  All  violent  exercises  are 
to  be  avoided  and  sensualities  of  every  kind.  The  hand 
must  be  trained  to  skilful  and  instinctive  obedience  to  the 
inspirations  of  the  imagination.  Lest  thought  be  disturbed 
by  uncongenial  topics,  walks  are  to  he  solitary,  when  com- 
panionship of  the  proper  kind  is  not  at  hand.  In  fine,  self- 
restraint,  industry,  love,  perseverance,  and  above  all,  obedi- 
ence to  every  law  of  artistic  growth  and  moral  excellence, 
are  the  cardinal  virtues  which  the  pupil  must  rely  on  to 
carry  his  probation  through  to  a successful  issue.  And, 
moreover,  as  he  was  destined  to  teach  holiness,  he  must  be 
holy  himself,  leading  a blameless  life,  going  regularly  to 
confession,  and  partaking  of  communion  at  least  once  a 
year.  Indeed  these  latter  tokens  of  external  piety  were 
prescribed  by  the  statutes  of  the  Florentine  painters.  Cen- 
nini concludes  with  a prayer  for  grace  to  sustain  the  trials 
of  his  earthly  career,  and  that  his  brethren,  understanding 
and  profiting  by  his  writings,  may  live  peacefully  and  pros- 
per on  earth,  and  finally  attain  to  everlasting  glory  in  the 
life  hereafter. 


* Pamphilius  of  Greece,  whose  school  of  painting  flourished  b.  c.  350,  re- 
quired a course  of  ten  years,  refusing  to  receive  a pupil  for  less  time,  which 
was  devoted  to  design,  arithmetic,  geometry,  and  painting  in  all  its  branches. 


170 


THE  BICCI  FAMILY. 


The  regimen  which  he  inculcates  was  the  rule  of  many 
a painter  during  the  predominance  of  the  religious  feeling 
in  art.  Nobility  of  soul  engendered  noble  art,  when  dis- 
ciplined by  thorough  instruction  and  stimulated  by  genius. 
If,  in  such  instances  as  that  of  Cennini,  goodness  and  in- 
dustry, through  lack  of  creative  talent  and  facility  of  execu- 
tion, resulted  only  in  mediocrity,  still  there  is  moral  strength 
in  his  discipline  and  a refreshing  encouragement  in  his 
well-ordered  life  and  exalted  view  of  his  profession.  But 
the  world  at  large  is  impatient  alike  of  virtuous  maxims 
and  steady  application,  if  not  coupled  with  material  prog- 
ress. Cennini’s  integrity,  humility,  weakness  of  hand, 
fond  lingering  over  the  past,  which  he  idolized,  and  his 
pious  prosings,  brought  him  scant  patronage ; for  he  was 
cast  into  prison  for  debt,  and  liberated  only  to  be  soon  after 
released  to  another  and  more  genial  existence. 

But  while  Cennini  fared  so  badly,  there  was  a family  in 
Florence — grandfather,  father,  and  son  — named  Bicci,  who 
were  fashionable  and  prosperous,  on  perhaps  but  slightly, 
if  any,  greater  capital  of  artistic  merit,  though  with  the 
odds  of  worldly  success  vastly  in  their  favor,  from  vain  as- 
surance and  lack  of  any  reverence  for  the  divinity  of  art. 
Lorenzo  di  Bicci  (1350—  1 4*27),  the  grandfather,  and  his 
son,  Bicci  di  Lorenzo  di  Bicci  (1373—1452),  were  the  last 
prominent  representatives  of  the  direct  Giottesque  style  in 
Florence,  which  with  them  became  so  weak  and  mannered 
as  to  lose  its  claims  for  longer  existence.  They  imitated, 
but  very  superficially,  the  improvements  in  design  of  the 
school  of  Masolino,  hut  were  hasty,  without  depth  of  feeling 
or  the  sincerity  which  characterized  their  predecessors.  It 
is  true  that  they  were  popular  and  their  works  much  in  re- 
quest. But  theirs  was  an  epoch  when  the  style  they  repre- 
sented, having  exhausted  itself,  had  degenerated  to  barren 


NERI  DI  BICCI. 


171 


median  ism,  and  was  abandoned  to  the  vulgar  or  those  who 
viewed  it  solely  in  the  light  of  ignorant  devotion  ; while 
the  real  patrons  of  art  were  absorbed  in  the  new  directions 
given  to  it  by  the  respective  genius  and  feeling  of  Fra  An- 
gelico and  Masaccio.  Their  names,  consequently,  deserve 
mention  only  as  showing  the  decadence  of  the  lineal  style 
of  Giotto,  which  indeed  survived  them  in  but  rare  and  iso- 
lated instances ; barren  imitations  of  anterior  excellence  ; a 
specimen  of  which,  by  one  Petrus  Franciscus,  dated  14*94, 
is  still  to  be  seen  in  an  altar-piece  in  the  church  of  the 
Augustines  at  San  Gimignano. 

The  grandson,  Neri  di  Bicci  (1419— 14*86),  requires 
more  particular  mention.  His  paintings  are  very  abun- 
dant throughout  Tuscany,  for  he  was  as  facile,  prolific, 
and  unscrupulous  an  artist  as  is  Alexander  Dumas  aw 
author,  adapting  himself  with  fatal  ease  to  the  require- 
ments of  the  market,  careless  of  his  reputation  in  compari- 
son with  his  purse.  That  he  was  clever  we  have  evidence 
in  not  a few  of  his  works,  which  afford  glimpses  of  true 
sentiment  and  a beauty  of  execution  that  had  they  been 
conscientiously  cultivated,  would  indubitably  have  won  for 
him  real  distinction  with  posterity.  As  it  is,  he  is  chiefly 
known  from  the  multitude  and  variety  of  his  easel  pro- 
ductions, their  general  incorrectness  of  design,  bloated, 
idiotic  heads,  especially  of  angels,  crowded,  ill-arranged 
compositions,  poverty  of  invention,  frequency  of  plagiarism, 
profuse  use  of  gold  in  draperies,  tawdry,  mechanical  deco- 
ration in  general,  and  prevalent  coarseness  of  brush.  He 
did  not  absolutely  daub,  but  he  fabricated , for  the  market, 
reducing  art  to  manufacture,  and  no  doubt  employing  the 
cheapest  assistants,  to  enable  him  to  turn  out  the  greatest 
amount  of  profitable  work.  Otherwise  one  cannot  well 
account  for  the  utter  depravity  in  style  and  degradation  in 


17-2 


NERI  DI  B1CCI. 


spirit  which  with  him  descended  upon  the  noble  school  of 
Giotto,  and  the  great  contrasts  sometimes  displayed  in  hints 
as  it  were,  of  his  real  capacity  and  his  low  standard  of  gen- 
eral execution.  He  did  not  confine  himself  to  gold  back- 
grounds, but  borrowed  attractions  from  the  naturalistic 
school,  imitating  when  he  saw  fit,  not  unsuccessfully,  its 
superior  design,  perspective,  and  the  architectural  accesso- 
ries then  coming  into  vogue.  Neri’s  taste,  however,  was 
radically  bad.  His  predilections  were  for  glitter  and  dec- 
oration, scenic  effect  and  cheap  work.  Hence  he  could 
never  place  himself  in  the  ranks  of  his  friend  Filippo 
Lippi,  who  was  then  in  the  ascendant.  Gain  was  his  aim. 
He  transformed  his  studio  into  a vast  manufactory.  Not 
only  pictures  were  produced  with  astonishing  rapidity,  but 
also  the  carved  and  gilt  paraphernalia  of  church  altars : 
wooden  angels  and  huge  candlesticks.  He  painted  armor, 
gilded  furniture,  made  designs  for  tapestry,  got  up  scenery 
for  festivals,  signs  for  shopmen  ; restored  old  pictures ; 
colored  plaster  images ; made  crucifixes ; in  fact  turned 
his  hand  and  art  to  any  object  that  brought  him  custom, 
even  to  exporting  his  wares  largely  to  foreign  coun- 
tries,* Of  course  he  became  rich  and  noted,  but  dis- 
graced his  profession  ; and  the  sole  legacy  he  has  left  for 
the  benefit  of  art  is  one  of  warning-  to  those  whose  low 
inclinations  may  prompt  them  to  imitate  his  example. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  two  great  names  which  termi- 
nate the  group  of  the  primitive  Epic  succession  of  Giotto, 
although  somewhat  beyond  our  prescribed  boundaries,  we 
must  mention  a few  artists  at  Padua  and  Bologna,  who 
were  either  contemporary  with  Giotto,  and  of  the  early  Ital- 
ico-Byzantine  style,  or  who  subsequently  carried  forward 
into  those  and  neighboring  cities  the  principles  and  methods 

* Commentario  alia  Vita  di  Lorenzo  di  Bicci,  Vasari,  vol.  ii.  p.  25. 


EARLY  BOLOGNESE  ARTISTS. 


173 

of  that  great  leader.  Among  them  we  find  at  Padua, 
about  1350,  Guariento,  who  also  left  throughout  Lombardy 
many  works  indicative  of  genius  and  originality.  But  the 
most  distinguished  artist  of  this  branch  of  the  Giotteschi 
was  a Florentine  named  Giusto  Menabuoi.  He  flour- 
ished as  early  as  1376,  and  may  be  cited  as  the  chief  ex- 
ample of  brilliant  coloring  and  dramatic  effect.  Lord 
Lindsay  * says  of  his  frescoes  in  St.  Giorgio  at  Padua, 
“ They  are  singularly  dramatic ; every  variety  of  charac- 
ter, Governor,  Consul,  Knight,  Noble,  Citizen,  and  Clown, 
is  discriminated  with  a degree  of  truth  that  startles  one ; 
they  are  full  of  portraits,  much  more  knightly  and  gentle- 
manlike than  you  see  in  the  Florentine  frescoes  — the  prin- 
cipal figures  are  uniformly  characteristic  and  the  noblest  in 
mien  and  look  as  well  as  the  most  conspicuous  in  place  ; 
feeling,  simplicity,  and  good  taste  prevail  throughout ; the 
design  is  upon  the  whole  excellent,  save  that  the  female 
forms,  as  in  the  naked  St.  Lucia,  are  deficient  in  elegance ; 
the  grouping  and  relief  are  admirable,  — there  are  crowds 
of  figures  but  no  confusion ; the  coloring  is  soft  and 
pleasing  ; the  backgrounds,  occasionally  of  landscape,  are 
usually  of  the  more  gorgeous  and  exquisite  Lombard  or 
Pointed  Architecture.  I think  that  the  author  of  these 
frescoes  comes  very  near  Masaccio  in  his  peculiar  merits ; 
while  in  Christian  feeling,  invention,  and  even  in  composi- 
tion, he  surpasses  him.  Unlike  many  of  the  Giotteschi,  he 
has  a thousand  ideas  of  his  own.” 

Vitale,  of  Bologna,  which  city  was  an  important  central 
point  in  the  revival  of  art,  lived  in  the  first  half  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  and  was  surnamed  “ Dalle  Madonna,”  from 
his  predilection  for  and  success  in  painting  the  Virgin.  Un- 
like other  mystics,  he  refused  to  paint  their  favorite  subject, 

* Yol.  ii.  p.  347. 


JACOBO  D AVANZO. 


174* 

Christ  on  the  Cross,  saying  “ that  the  Jews  had  already 
crucified  him  once  too  often,  while  Christians  did  as  much 
every  day  by  their  sins.”# 

Another  Bolognese,  Jacobo  d’  Avanzo,  of  the  school  of 
Padua,  distinguished  himself  a generation  later  for  his  for- 
cible invention,  graphic  grouping,  and  rich  coloring.  He 
had  not  the  poetical  grandeur  and  fulness  of  Orgagna  and 
Giotto,  but  excelled  them  in  picturesque  naturalness,  and 
was  successful  in  giving  variety  and  individuality  to  his 
figures.  In  his  management  of  details  and  accessories  he 
appears  to  have  been,  like  Stefano,  in  advance  of  the  Giot- 
teschi  in  general,  and  was  equally  unsuccessful  in  transmit- 
ting his  progress  to  his  pupils.  We  see  in  his  aerial  per- 
spective and  architecture  and  more  careful  drawing  much 
to  admire  for  his  age.  Had  his  location  been  Tuscany,  he 
would  have  ranked  with  the  best  of  that  school. 

To  fully  elucidate  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  several 
branches  of  the  Giottesque  Painting  in  central  and  north- 
ern Italy,  with  the  names  of  the  principal  artists,  would 
require  a separate  volume  ; and  as  in  motive  it  corresponds 
with  the  main  stream  in  Tuscany,  differing  chiefly  in  de- 
tails of  color  and  those  instinctive  qualities  which  are  in 
great  part  the  growth  of  local  influences,  not  presenting 
any  great  originating  minds  to  take  the  lead  of  those  Tus- 
cans whose  names  are  most  familiar  in  history,  we  shall 
now  return  to  that  rich  soil,  leaving  our  readers,  if  curios- 
ity tempt,  to  pursue  their  inquiries  from  the  paintings  and 
those  authentic  materials  which  Italian  research  has  brought 
to  light  in  every  part  of  that  favored  land. 

Andrea  Orgagna  (13£9~1376),  of  Florence,  stands  out 
prominently  as  a great,  original,  independent  genius;  a 
complete  artist  and  noble  man.  His  paternal  name  was 
* Lord  Lindsay,  vol.  iii.  p.  205. 


ANDREA  ORGAGNA. 


175 


Cione,  and  lie  was  one  of  five  brothers,  all  artists : Ber- 
nardo, the  eldest,  remarkable  for  his  bold  design,  fine  finish, 
and  beautiful  type  of  heads,  being  his  partner,  friend,  and 
pupil,  cheerfully  and  lovingly  assenting  to  the  supremacy 
nature  had  bestowed  upon  Andrea,  whose  artistic  charac- 
ter is  aptly  expressed  in  the  word  Orgagna,  a corruption 
of  Arcagnuolo,  the  Archangel,  bestowed  by  contemporaries 
and  confirmed  by  posterity. 

Architect,  sculptor,  and  painter,  Orgagna  is  almost  as 
well  known  as  Giotto,  and  for  good  cause.  He  was  also  a 
lover  of  Dante,  and  a maker  of  sonnets  pronounced  clever 
by  contemporary  judges.  Orgagna’s  influence  was  not 
equal  to  Giotto’s,  chiefly  because  he  succeeded  him,  and 
had  less  adaptiveness  to  humanity  in  general.  Giotto  was 
more  universal,  more  on  a level  with  mankind,  more  a 
teacher  and  friend,  less  a prophet.  Orgagna  was  of  the 
latter  class.  His  aspiration  was  to  the  sublime.  Lofty  in 
aim,  pure  in  feeling,  graceful  and  thorough  in  execution, 
he  wonderfully  impresses  the  spectator  in  whatever  depart- 
ment he  manifests  his  mind,  whether  in  architecture  as  in 
the  noble  Loggia  di  Lanzi,  whose  spirit  lifts  heavenward ; 
the  sculptured  Tabernacle  of  Orsanmichele,  glorious  in  its 
virgin  purity  of  work  and  sentiment ; or  in  his  marvellous 
fresco  of  the  u Triumph  of  Death  ” in  the  Pisan  Campo 
Santo,  alive  with  the  beauty  and  variety  of  invention  and 
profound  thought. 

But  in  one  respect  he  was  not  above  the  level  of  the  moral 
feeling  of  his  age.  The  prevailing  religious  specific  then 
— as  now  with  the  majority  of  worshippers  — was  fear. 
Revenge  was  a virtue  in  the  individual  and  state.  Refor- 
mation of  the  criminal  or  forgiveness  to  the  unfortunate 
was  an  unknown  idea,  popularly  speaking.  The  greatest 
minds  put  faith  in  doing  evil  rather  than  good  to  their 


176 


SPIRIT  OF  MEDIAEVAL  FACTIONS. 


enemies.  Religion,  as  interpreted  by  theology,  sanc- 
tioned this  idea  by  the  example  of  a vindictive  Jehovah. 
If  God  delighted  in  the  torment  and  destruction  of  sinners, 
why  should  not  sinners  feel  an  equal  satisfaction  under  the 
delusion  of  mistermed  justice,  in  visiting  upon  those  who 
had  offended  them,  slaughter,  exile,  torture,  and  robbery; 
in  fine  in  making  them  as  wretched  as  possible  l Under 
such  a moral  regimen,  parties  were  ever  suspicious  and 
, hostile.  Humanity,  however,  frequently  asserted  its  dig- 
nity, and  counterbalanced  great  public  wrongs  by  noble 
private  virtues,  so  that  the  human  heart  was  often  more 
than  a match  for  perverted  doctrines.  But,  Guelf  or  Ghib- 
elline,  each  government  was  alike  enthusiastic  for  art, 
and  sustained  it  with  a lofty  spirit  to  which  more  modern 
times  afford  no  counterpart.  Florence  in  particular  was 
ever  haughty,  proud,  ambitious  — turbulent  also,  but  jeal- 
ous of  her  liberties,  such  as  they  were,  and  boasting  that 
they  “never  bowed  their  heads  to  any  master.”  # On  one 
occasion  they  absolutely  refused  to  receive  an  embassy 
from  their  German  lord.  Theirs  was  a spirit  of  self- 
exaltation.  From  out  of  the  vice  of  republicans  was  born 
the  virtue  of  the  republic ; in  the  individual,  self-exagger- 
ation tending  in  the  aggregate  to  national  enterprise  and 
prosperity.  They  boasted,  but  they  also  entertained  grand 
conceptions.  Religion  was  honored  by  their  art,  which 
equally  gratified  their  pride.  Recall  the  language  of  the 
decree  of  the  Florentine  Republic,  ordering  Arnolfo  di  Lapo 
to  execute  a design  for  their  new  Duomo  : — 

“ Whereas  the  chief  aim  of  a people  of  great  origin 
being  to  act  in  a way  that  from  its  outward  works  every 


* Reply  of  Betto  Brunelleschi,  a.  d.  1311,  to  the  ambassador  of  Henry  VII. 
of  Germany,  sent  to  extort  from  them  an  acknowledgment  of  their  allegiance 
to  the  Empire.  Villani,  443  et  se<j. 


PRIDE  AND  PROSPERITY  OF  FLORENCE. 


177 


one  should  recognize  its  wise  and  magnanimous  manner  of 
proceeding,  we  order  Arnolfo,  our  chief  architect,  to  make 
a model  or  design  for  the  complete  rebuilding  of  St.  Repa- 
rata  with  the  greatest  possible  magnificence  that  the  human 
mind  is  capable  of  conceiving ; since  it  has  been  decreed  in 
council,  both  public  and  private,  by  the  most  able  men  of 
this  city,  that  nothing  should  be  undertaken  for  the  com- 
munity that  did  not  correspond  to  the  ideas  of  its  most  en- 
lightened citizens,  moved  by  one  mind,  the  grandeur  and 
glory  of  the  country.” 

Nothing  is  hinted  in  this  for  the  honor  of  God,  but  much 
for  the  greatness  of  the  citizens.  Holding  themselves  equal 
to  any  undertaking,  their  faith  in  themselves  produced  won- 
ders. Nor  would  they  allow  any  one  to  question  their  abil- 
ity. They  fined  and  imprisoned  a stranger  for  presuming 
to  doubt  their  means  to  execute  all  that  they  proposed,  as  a 
punishment  for  his  lack  of  faith  in  the  resources  of  the 
community.* 

We  shall  farther  on  contrast  this  civic  pride  of  Florence 
with  the  devout  spirit  which  animated  the  Sienese  in  similar 
undertakings,  and  which  manifested  itself  correspondingly 
in  their  works. 

* At  this  period,  Florence  and  its  environs  had  one  hundred  and  seventy 
thousand  inhabitants.  Its  revenue  was  equal  to  three  million  dollars,  or  more 
than  England  furnished  Queen  Elizabeth  two  centuries  later.  There  were 
two  hundred  manfactories  of  cloth,  employing  thirty  thousand  workmen,  pro- 
ducing twelve  million  dollars  annually.  The  annual  gold  coinage,  the  best  in 
Europe,  was  equal  to  three  million  dollars,  and  eighty  banks,  some  of  which 
in  their  transactions  excelled  even  the  first  of  our  day,  were  required  to  con- 
duct its  business,  which  embraced  all  parts  of  the  world.  All  this  prosperity 
was  the  result  of  her  democratic  energies,  and  was  finally  extinguished  by 
the  crafty  policy  of  the  family  of  the  “ father  of  his  country,”  Cosmo  himself 
being  the  archtraitor.  It  is  calculated  that  in  less  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  the  rule  of  the  Medici  destroyed  nine  tenths  of  the  population  of 
Tuscany.  When  Philip  II.  of  Spain  gave  Siena  to  the  Duke  of  Florence, 
his  ambassador  at  Rome  told  him  he  had  given  away  six  hundred  thousand 
subjects.  Now  there  are  not  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  on 
the  same  territory. 


12 


178 


HORRIBLE  MYSTERIES. 


Another  peculiarity  of  the  times  was  the  grotesque  idea 
of  extracting  amusement  from  the  terrible  mysteries  of  its 
denunciatory  creed.  Villani  relates  that  on  the  1st  of  May 
each  quarter  of  Florence  vied  with  the  others  in  festivities. 
“ The  citizens  of  the  Borgo  San  Friano,  who  had  of  old 
been  accustomed  to  perform  new  and  varied  games,  sent  a 
proclamation  through  the  town,  that  any  one  who  might 
desire  to  learn  news  of  the  other  world  should  come  to  the 
Carraia  bridge  and  the  banks  near  it  on  the  kalends  of 
May.  Scaffolding  was  erected  upon  boats,  and  it  was 
made  to  look  like  hell,  with  flames  and  other  punishments 
and  torments  and  demons,  and  men  distorted,  horrible  to 
look  upon,  and  other  beings  which  had  the  likeness  of  naked 
spirits ; and  they  placed  them  in  different  agonies,  with  tre- 
mendous cries,  shrieks,  and  noise,  which  was  a revolting  and 
terrible  thing  to  hear  and  look  upon.  This  new  show  at- 
tracted many  spectators,  and  the  bridge  being  full  and 
crowded,  and  of  wood,  broke  down.  Many  persons  died 
there  ; some  were  drowned  ; many  hurt ; so  that  what  was 
meant  for  a jest  turned  out  true,  and  as  it  was  proclaimed  in 
the  outset,  many  went  to  learn  news  about  the  other  world.” 
The  horrible  imagery  of  Dante’s  hell  is  based  upon 
the  faith  of  his  age  in  physical  torment  as  a system  of  di- 
vine retribution.  The  Almighty  avenged  himself — why 
should  not  man  ! Artists  and  poets  but  did  that  in  their 
paintings  and  verses  which  their  fellow-citizens,  if  angered 
with  one  another,  did  in  deeds.  All  classes  put  unmen- 
tionable indignities  and  sufferings  upon  their  foes.  Hence 
it  was  that  the  artistic  imagination,  stimulated  by  theology, 
revelled  in  pictorial  delineations  of  the  fate  of  sinners,  with 
every  possible  variety  and  aggravation  of  physical  suffering, 
such  as  now  would  not  he  tolerated  in  art  anywhere,  and 
which  still  finds  a home  only  in  the  morbid  conceptions  of 


MEDIAEVAL  HELL. 


179 


fanatical  preachers  of  the  Gospel  of  love  and  their  unenlight- 
ened followers.  Humanity  has  begun  to  believe  in  the 
superior  anguish  of  offended  morality  ; the  still,  small  voice 
that  will  be  heard  ; the  worm  that  never  dies  except  with 
the  passing  away  of  sin.  But  on  our  external  plane  of 
being,  vivid  suffering,  in  order  to  work  out  its  lesson  to 
our  senses,  involves  a physical  exhibition  of  its  agony.  We 
can  note  the  rule  of  the  spirit  over  the  body  by  its  un- 
mistakable consequences  upon  the  latter.  Sin,  implying  a 
broken  law,  generates  physical  pain,  as  a secondary  effect. 
Now  we  have  learned  that  it  is  simply  a result,  warning  and 
reformatory  in  divine  economy.  Then  it  was  rather  consid- 
ered the  right  hand  of  ethical  discipline  and  the  final  doom 
of  unbelievers.  Barbarity  was  common,  because  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  age  were  barbarous,  and  the  demon-side  of 
its  faith  cruel: 

“ All  hope  abandon — ye  who  enter  here.” 

Inferno,  c.  iii.  v.  10. 

Happily  there  is  solace  in  Dante’s  material  hell  in  its  alle- 
gory, or  perhaps  we  accept  as  such  much  of  the  imagery 
which  had  a frightful  realism  to  mediaeval  minds.  For  it 
can  scarcely  be  doubted  that  when  the  poets  and  painters 
divide  hell  into  nine  dread  circles,  each  presided  over  by  a 
demon,  and  as  they  descend  growing  more  horrible  with 
infinite  torments  that  exhausted  even  their  prolific  invention 
to  intensify,  peopled  with  earth’s  former  multitudes,  their 
kin  and  neighbors  among  them,  until  the  climax  of  infer- 
nalism  is  reached  in  the  fourth  zone  of  the  ninth  and  last 
circle  in  the  image  of  the  monster  Dis  or  Beelzebub,  crunch- 
ing and  re-crunching,  with  gory  appetite  never  quenched,  in 
each  of  his  three  mouths,  the  mangled,  suffering  bodies  of 
those  they  held  to  be  the  chief  among  sinners,  they  meant 
the  people  to  accept  it  in  all  its  hideous  literalism.  Need 


180 


SPINELLO’S  DEVIL. 


we  be  surprised  that  the  aged  Spinello  Aretino,  after  hav- 
ing exhausted  his  invention  in  the  creation  of  the  foulest 
devil  known  to  art,  should  have  died  of  affright  upon  hear- 
ing in  a vision  his  hideous  monster  indignantly  demanding 
to  know  why  he  had  treated  him  so  shamefully,  and  where 
he  had  ever  seen  him  so  ugly.#  Evidently  Spinello  be- 
lieved in  his  devil.  Without  a lively  faith  of  this  nature, 
imaginations  would  have  been  inadequate  to  create  forms 
so  intensely  diabolical,  and  to  find  so  much  congenial  em- 
ployment for  them  in  acts  of  such  appalling  horror  as  we 
find  in  one  phase  of  Catholic  art,  paralleled  it  is  true  by 
the  demonism  of  a certain  class  of  Protestant  teachings, 
down  to  the  year  of  Christian  grace  1860.  The  rule 
was  simple.  Make  saints  as  attractive  and  devils  as  repul- 
sive as  possible. 

We  need  not  be  surprised  therefore,  in  this  age  of  feel- 
ing, that  the  men  of  feeling , the  poets  and  painters,  should 
not  have  abandoned  to  churchmen  the  monopoly  of  placing 
their  friends  or  enemies  in  heaven  or  hell,  but  should  also 
save  or  damn,  as  impulse  prompted,  in  virtue  of  their  divine 
credentials  of  art.  Accordingly  Dante,  Orgagna,  and  Michel 
Angelo,  not  to  mention  lesser  men,  conferred  after  this 
manner  immortality  upon  some,  who  otherwise  with  their 
interment  would  have  dropped  forever  out  of  human  mem- 
ories. Among  those  thus  preserved  by  Orgagna  is  one 
Guardi,  a sheriff',  who  had  seized  his  goods  for  debt.  The 
devil  has  clutched  him  with  a hook,  by  which  he  drags  him, 
frantic  and  shrieking,  to  the  place  of  torment.  Orgagna 
gives  him  for  company  the  judge  and  the  notary  of  the 
court  that  condemned  him.  Like  Fra  Angelico,  he  did  not 
spare  iniquitous  ecclesiastics.  One  of  his  most  striking 
figures  is  a hypocritical  friar,  who,  attempting  to  sneak  into 
* Vasari,  vol.  ii.  p.  197. 


D 


ORGAGNa’s  44  TRIONFO  DELLA  MORTE.” 


181 


the  society  of  the  good,  is  detected  and  driven  back  by  a 
watchful  angel. 

The  contests  for  souls,  between  the  angels  and  demons 
who  are  drawing  them  out  of  the  mouths  of  the  dying  and 
dead,  the  messengers  of  heaven  being  tender,  graceful,  and 
mighty,  those  of  the  bottomless  pit  fierce,  fiery,  and  bestial, 
are  a favorite  topic  of  this  period,  and  by  no  one  more 
graphically  treated  than  by  Orgagna  in  his  44  Trionfo  della 
Morte  ” at  Pisa.  Nor  will  we  condemn  imagery  which  so 
vividly  brings  before  the  popular  apprehension  the  terrible 
or  joyful  results  which  must  await  the  departure  of  each 
soul  from  its  physical  tenement.  Indeed,  until  our  eyes 
have  become  more  opened  to  spiritual  realities,  we  must 
rely  upon  similar  graphic  delineations  to  illustrate  the  per- 
petual struggle  between  good  and  evil  which  encompasses 
every  human  being.  Orgagna  maps  out  his  44  Hell  ” accord- 
ing to  Dante  and  transcribes  his  imagery,  after  the  approved 
conception  of  the  common  mind.  But  his  better  genius 
and  poetical  power  are  more  favorably  seen  in  the  44  Trionfo.” 
The  rush  of  Death  through  the  air  on  his  powerful,  bat-like 
wings  ending  in  sharp  claws,  armed  with  an  immense  scythe, 
hair  floating  wildly  back  with  the  rapidity  of  his  swoop, 
the  drapery  clinging  close  to  his  attenuated  figure  which 
terminates  in  long  feet  with  sharp  talons,  is  most  forcible. 
This  terrible  apparition  suggests  in  every  line  and  motion 
the  descent  of  irresistible  destiny.  Its  flight  is  towards  the 
noble  and  beautiful  who  are  enjoying  themselves  amid  the 
honors,  riches,  and  pleasures  of  life,  and  it  scornfully  over- 
looks the  crowd  of  wretched  and  diseased  ones,  who  are 
eagerly  clamoring  for  it  to  cut  them  down.  The  artist 
puts  into  their  mouths  on  a scroll  the  following  invocation: 

“ Since  nought  of  happiness  to  us  remains 
Come  then,  O Death,  — the  cure  for  every  ill, — 

Give  our  last  support  and  relief  from  pain,”  etc. 


182 


ORGAGNA. 


Orgagna  is  thoroughly  epic  in  feeling,  endowing  his 
figures  with  much  characteristic  sentiment,  but  in  repre- 
senting physical  agony,  like  all  others  of  his  school,  verging 
on  caricature.  His  saints  are  uniformly  serene  and  grand ; 
his  angels  and  archangels  nobly  beautiful,  and  filled  with 
the  sense  of  exalted  power.  His  mind  was  deep  and  lofty, 
rather  than  broad  and  general.  Equally  successful  in  each 
department  of  art  that  he  essayed,  his  predilection  was  for 
painting,  though  on  his  pictures  he  was  wont  to  sign  him- 
self sculptor,  and  on  his  sculpture  to  inscribe  himself  painter. 
Less  idiosyncratic  than  Michel  Angelo,  with  like  aspiration 
towards  the  sublime,  beauty  in  him  was  more  harmoniously 
wedded  to  strength.  Both  Orgagna  and  Spinello  Aretino 
were  the  legitimate  precursors  of  Luca  Signorelli  and  Mi- 
chel Angelo,  in  the  mental  quality  and  character  of  art ; the 
defects  of  either  party  being  the  results  of  opposite  tenden- 
cies growing  out  of  the  technical  conditions  of  painting  in 
their  respective  times  ; the  one  too  much  engrossed  by  sen- 
timent to  render  full  justice  to  design,  and  the  other  so  capti- 
vated by  the  force  of  design  as  sometimes  to  overlook  the 
more  necessary  ingredient  of  soul.  Orgagna  was,  however, 
an  adept  in  the  mechanism  of  art  as  then  practised,  having 
a perfect  command  over  material,  so  that  it  is  rare  to  find 
works  which  have  better  resisted  the  action  of  time,  or  that 
equally  well  retain  their  original  finish.  And  we  must  add 
that  the  grandeur  and  dignity  of  Orgagna’s  pictorial  figures, 
their  sculpturesque  severity  and  lofty  yet  graceful  ideali- 
zation, with  the  simplicity  and  appropriateness  of  their  ac- 
cessories, are  unexcelled  by  any  of  his  contemporaries.* 
Although  a graphic  depictor  of  the  element  of  fear  in  re- 
ligion, love  was  still  more  characteristic  of  him,  and  we  can 
readily  credit  the  assertion  of  Vasari,  that  his  life  was 
“ pleasant,  courteous,  and  amiable.” 

* See  pi.  D,  figs.  13,  14,  15,  16. 


SPINELLO  ARETINO. 


183 


Spinello  Aretino,  whose  acquirements  were  concentrated 
on  painting-,  equally  commands  our  respect,  though  not  gifted 
with  the  varied  genius  of  Orgagna.  He  belonged  to  Arezzo, 
was  horn  about  1308,  and  we  find  him,  like  Titian,  still 
vigorously  plying  his  pencil  when  close  on  to  one  hundred 
years  of  age,  and  even  then  displaying  a richness  of  inven- 
tion and  power  of  execution  worthy  of  his  prime.  If  the 
devil  had  not  frightened  him  to  death  in  a vision  out  of 
despite  for  his  graphic  incarnation  of  his  diabolism,  possibly 
Spinello  would  have  continued  his  career  still  longer.  He 
is  fortunate  in  the  fine  preservation  of  a portion  of  his 
works,  though  that  above  alluded  to,  his  favorite  subject, 
“ The  Fall  of  the  Rebel  Angels,”  done  in  fresco  in  the 
church  of  St.  Agnolo  at  Arezzo,  has  been,  with  the  sacred 
edifice,  long  since  ruined,  so  that  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  fragments  uncared  for  on  the  walls  of  what  is  now  a 
wretched  habitation,  we  must  depend  upon  the  engraving 
by  Lasinio  for  an  adequate  conception  of  its  original  fire 
and  spirit.  The  archangel  Michael,  assisted  by  the  heavenly 
hosts,  is  engaged  in  personal  conflict  with  the  seven-headed 
dragon  of  the  Apocalypse  and  his  attendant  demons.  He 
precipitates  them  over  the  walls  of  heaven,  deep  into  the 
chasms  of  hell,  where  they  lie,  struggling  with  impotent 
fury  to  strike  anew  their  majestic  enemy.  Satan,  a second 
time  given,  transformed  into  the  very  beast  of  Sin,  lies  half 
buried  beneath  the  mountains  cast  upon  him.  High  over 
all,  in  the  upper  heavens,  sits  the  Almighty,  tranquilly  en- 
throned amid  the  celestial  powers,  having  willed  the  eternal 
discomfiture  of  the  “old  serpent.” 

In  this  composition,  in  great  measure,  Spinello  has  antici- 
pated the  invention  of  Milton.*  He  musters  before  us  the 

* May  not  the  Protestant  poet  be  indebted  not  a little  to  some  of  the  noble 
frescoes  of  the  Catholic  school,  which  were  well  preserved  when  he  visited  Tus- 
cany, for  some  of  the  picturesquely  grand  scenes  and  personages  of  his  im- 
mortal poem  ? 


184 


SPINELLO  ARETIXO. 


calm,  noble  chivalry  of  heaven,  strong  and  graceful  in  their 
repose  beyond  description.  But  when  they  strike,  it  is  with 
tlie  rapidity  and  glow  of  light ; the  eye  recoils  from  the 
hideous  variety  of  ugliness  of  their  demoniac  foes,  and  the 
terrific  consequences  of  their  overthrow  upon  themselves 
and  nature.  We  seem  to  hear  the  roar  and  rush  of  their 
brutal  forms  with  their  hissing  hate  as  they  tumble  head- 
long to  the  place  prepared  for  them  from  the  beginning; 
a dreary,  hopeless  region,  where  even  a drop  of  water 
would  outweigh  the  ransom  of  a kingdom. 

Spinello’s  frescoes  in  the  sacristy  of  the  church  of  San 
Miniato  near  Florence,  the  “ Life  of  St.  Benedetto,”  some- 
what unequal  in  excellence,  are  admirably  preserved  and  full 
of  interest.  In  his  ninetieth  vear  he  was  invited  to  Siena 

J 

to  decorate  the  Sala  della  Balia  of  the  Palazzo  Publico. 
The  subject  chosen  was  the  great  struggle  between  the 
Empire  and  Papacy,  represented  by  the  Emperor  Frederic 
V.,  surnamed  Barbarossa,  and  the  Popes  Adrian  IV.  and 
Alexander  III.  He  fully  comprehended  the  antagonistic 
elements  involved  in  this  momentous  struggle,  and  illustrated 
them  in  a series  of  paintings,  remarkable  for  fidelity  of  ex- 
pression, judicious  selection  of  incidents,  and  vivid  inter- 
blending of  the  “ civil,  military,  and  ecclesiastical  life  of  the 
age,”  as  Baron  von  Rumohr  justly  observes,  into  one  com- 
prehensive pictorial  whole.  Full  of  dramatic  vigor,  partic- 
ularly excellent  in  delineating  character,  imitative  or  inven- 
tive as  bis  compositions  required,  seizing  upon  the  leading 
ing  incident  with  historical  exactness  and  picturesque  effect, 
attentive  to  unity,  intermingling  the  lights  and  shadows 
of  emotions  and  by-scenes  with  great  naturalness,  less  sim- 
ple and  tender  than  Giotto,  in  all  other  respects,  he  is  to  be 
considered  as  one  of  the  most  complete  and  attractive  of  his 
school.  In  color  he  is  weak  though  pure.  Vasari,  in  de- 


PARRI  SPINELLI. 


185 


scribing  his  sacred  subjects,  says  of  them,  “ there  is  an  in- 
describable something  of  holiness  and  purity  which  induces 
reverence  from  men.”  Spinello’s  nobleness  of  life  interpen- 
etrated his  paintings.  He  was  as  noted  for  his  Christian 
charity  as  for  his  skill  in  art,  and  his  native  city  still  recalls 
with  noble  pride  his  heroism  in  the  plague  of  1383.  Bal- 
dinucci  in  his  brief  notice  thus  touchingly  sums  up  his  vir- 
tues : 66  Finally  in  the  city  of  Arezzo  he  passed  on  to  the 
other  life,  leaving  a great  reputation  for  excellence  in  his 
art,  and  as  a perfect  Christian.” 

Parri  Spinelli,  his  son,  who  was  alive  in  1444,  followed 
his  father’s  profession,  and  was  noted  for  the  length  of  his 
figures,  extending  them  to  eleven  and  twelve  heads.  They 
were  delicately  drawn,  slight  and  flexible,  with  well-adjusted 
draperies.  In  coloring,  his  tints  being  admirably  harmo- 
nized, he  was  highly  praised.  Over-application  to  his  art 
shortened  his  days.  He  was  a melancholy,  solitary  man, 
and  in  consequence  not  a favorite  in  society.  Being  ca- 
lumniated, he  painted  an  allegorical  picture  in  the  chapel  of 
San  Niccola,  representing  the  tongues  of  his  enemies  in 
flames  and  devils  keeping  up  the  fires.  In  the  air  above, 
Christ  was  uttering  maledictions,  and  on  one  side  was  in- 
scribed “ The  Lot  of  the  false  tongue.” 

O 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Action  to  Repose.  Epic  to  Lyric  Painting.  Siena,  past  and  present.  Its 
Religious  Tone  in  Politics  and  Art.  Statutes  of  its  Painters.  Taddeo  Gad- 
di, 1800-1366,  Simone  Martini,  1284-1344,  Jacobo  di  Casentino,  and  others. 
The  Incredulity  of  Criticism.  Lippo  Memmi,  1357.  Era  Martini  of  Assisi. 
Ambrogio  Lorenzetti,  1265-1348.  Ghiberti’s  Opinion  of.  His  great  Work 
at  Siena.  Object  and  Execution  of  Christian  Art  of  this  Period.  The 
Character  of  the  great  Artists.  Generation  of  weak  Artists.  Andrea 
Vanni,  1345-1413.  Berna  and  Pietro  di  Puccio.  Lorenzo  Monaco.  Tad- 
deo di  Bartolo,  1363-1422.  Mysticism  of  Lyric  Art.  Why  and  Where- 
fore. Causes  of  its  Influence  or  Repulsion.  Language  of  Spirit  more 
subtle  and  noble  than  of  Pact  under  certain  mental  Conditions.  Opposite 
Inspirations  and  Methods  of  the  two  Classes  of  Artists,  Realists  and  Sen- 
timentalists. Danger  of  exclusive  Sensibility  to  either.  The  common 
End  of  their  respective  Excess.  Right  Aim  in  Taste.  Bartolo’s  Succes- 
sors at  Siena,  and  the  last  of  the  true  Giotteschi. 

From  action  to  repose  is  grateful.  The  trumpet  of 
Epic  art  has  thrilled  us  sufficiently  for  a while.  Now  let 
us  listen  to  the  lyre  of  the  Lyric  artists,  and  rejoice  our 
ears  in  their  songs  of  harmony,  lying  down  beside  them  in 
pleasant  pastures,  serenely  contemplating  the  bliss  which 
they  open  to  us  of  earth  and  heaven. 

Between  factious,  self-poised  Florence  — the  focus  of  Epic 
art,  imperious  and  magniloquent,  full  of  strong,  earnest 
individualism,  rough  and  ready,  Guelf  in  politics,  and  so 
democratic  that  a noble,  except  by  special  privilege,  was 
debarred  civic  rights  — and  Ghibelline  Siena,  chi valric  and 
devotional,  where  was  centred  the  Lyric  sentiment,  there 
was  indeed  a striking  difference.  In  the  early  part  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  both  were  commercially  and  politically 


MEDIAEVAL  SIENA. 


187 


prosperous,  and  abounded  in  riches  and  enterprise.  Siena, 
however,  enjoyed  most  tranquillity.  Says  its  old  chronicler, 
Brandone,  a.d.  1317?  44  every  one  minded  his  own  busi- 
ness, and  all  loved  each  other  as  brethren.”  A golden 
period,  truly,  for  any  people ! And  there  was  much  in 
the  artistic  character  of  Siena,  its  social  and  political  life, 
and,  above  all,  its  elevated  religious  tone,  to  induce  one  to 
credit  the  marvel  with  fewer  grains  of  allowance  than  the 
common  infirmities  of  human  nature  might  seem  to  de- 
mand. At  no  other  period  of  her  history  was  she  so 
flourishing.  Her  adult  male  population,  numbered  as  citi- 
zens, was  computed  at  seventy  thousand,  but  this  must 
have  comprised  the  adjacent  territory.  Thirty-nine  gates 
pierced  her  solid  walls.  Students  from  all  parts  of  Italy 
flocked  to  her  University.  Her  national  spirit  was  vigor- 
ous, refined,  and  patriotic.  Unhappily,  in  1348  she  was 
so  grievously  stricken  with  the  plague  that  she  lost  nearly 
three  quarters  of  her  inhabitants,  and  never  fully  recovered 
from  the  blow.  With  the  ever-shifting  politics  of  Italy, 
she  had  also  her  bitter  cup  of  adversity  to  drain.  But  no 
stranger,  even  now,  enters  Siena  without  being  struck  by 
its  atmosphere  of  aristocratic  repose,  its  religious  quiet,  the 
fine  features  of  its  women, — with  their  lustrous,  dark  eyes, 
and  winsome  softness  of  expression,  transferred  by  her 
earliest  artists  to  their  Madonnas,  — the  urbanity  of  its 
people,  and  the  purity  of  their  tongue.  On  no  other  med- 
iaeval Italian  city  does  the  better  spirit  and  the  romance 
of  its  palmy  days  linger  more  fondly  and  lastingly.  Its 
unity  and  harmony  of  scenery  and  feeling  are  particularly 
soothing  and  refining.  The  substance  of  its  ancient  virtue 
is  still  alive  at  heart.  The  fondness  of  the  inhabitants  for 
the  souvenirs  of  their  glorious  past ; the  care  and  venera- 
tion with  which  they  regard  their  numerous  monuments ; 


188 


MEDIAEVAL  SIENA. 


the  mediaeval  aspect  of  the  entire  city,  with  its  battlements 
and  towers  still  keeping  guard  as  of  yore ; its  churches, 
palaces,  and  pictures,  so  scrupulously  preserved  and  proudly 
shown  ; the  gray-haired,  single-minded  guardians,  of  either 
sex,  of  the  treasures  they  exhibit,  themselves  seeming  to 
have  dropped  out  of  the  Past ; the  thoroughly  Sienese 
feeling  of  the  citizens,  and  yet  their  pleasant  acquiescence 
in  the  spirit  of  modernism  : all  wondrously  wins  upon  our 
love  and  respect.  And  O Florence ! take  pattern  after  the 
cleanliness  of  Siena.  Cultivate  that  purity  of  soul  which 
forbids  the  personal  exposure  and  filthy  defilement  of  her 
public  places  which  your  populace  indulge  in,  respecting 
no  beauty  of  edifice  or  sacred  association,  unless  protected 
by  the  symbol  of  Christian  salvation,  making  your  thor- 
oughfares stink  foully  in  the  nostrils  of  all  Christendom. 
Learn,  O Florentines ! that  next  to  godliness  ranks  cleanli- 
ness, and  sin  no  more. 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  show  how  nobly  the  women  of 
Siena  behaved  in  her  hours  of  trial ; how  their  heroism  in 
its  fatal  siege  extorted  from  their  enemy  the  “ emphatic 
declaration  that  he  would  rather  undertake  to  defend  Siena 
with  her  women  than  Rome  with  her  men,  such  as  the 
men  of  Rome  then  were.”  But  her  art  has  too  many 
claims  to  permit  even  this  tempting  digression. 

Siena  was  equally  as  jealous  of  its  national  honor  as 
Florence,  but,  its  religious  tone  being  more  humble  and 
reverent,  in  all  its  decrees  it  first  ascribed  all  glory  to 
God,  looking  to  Him  alone  as  the  fountain  of  safety  and 
inspiration.  Over  the  door  of  the  great  Council  Chamber 
was  inscribed  u Whatsoever  ye  do  in  word  and  deed,  do 
all  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ.”  In  the  contract  dated 
Oct.  9,  1308,  between  Duccio  and  the  clergy  of  the  cathe- 
dral to  paint  his  celebrated  altar-piece,  he  pledges  himself 


ITS  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING. 


189 


to  do  it  “ to  his  best  ability,  and  as  the  Lord  shall  give 
him  cunning.” 

A similar  piety  was  universal  in  all  such  transactions. 
It  raised  the  religious  tone  of  the  people,  and  gave  a cor- 
responding hue  to  public  documents.  Numerous  artists 
from  the  neighboring  towns,  from  Umbria,  and  even  from 
Germany,  flocked  to  Siena  for  instruction.  There  was  ex- 
ercised over  all  a moral  surveillance,  sustained  by  a rigid 
public  sentiment,  which  contributed  largely  to  maintain 
their  art  pure  and  devotional,  its  inherited  tendency  being 
contemplative  and  symbolical.  United  with  this  was  a fond- 
ness for  the  lovely  and  peaceful  in  nature,  the  moment  of 
repose  in  preference  to  that  of  action,  and  a rendering  of 
their  own  souls,  their  loves,  fancies,  and  thoughts,  instead 
of  going  forth  into  outer,  active  life  in  search  of  its  pas- 
sions and  incitements.  Hence  their  constant  exaltation  of 
idea  above  design,  their  idealization  of  holiness  or  abstract 
creations,  their  love  of  those  things  in  the  natural  world 
most  suggestive  of  joy  and  peace ; of  life  happy  in  the 
purity  and  freshness  of  its  instincts ; of  colors  emblematic 
of  virtuous  belongings  and  holy  being ; of  hearts  filled  with 
the  “ peace  that  passeth  understanding,”  the  precious  mys- 
teries of  atoning  salvation,  and  unspeakable  triumphs  of 
Redemption.  Delicacy  and  grace;  moral  and  physical  har- 
mony; the  realization  of  exalted  idea  in  corresponding  form ; 
pure,  simple  colors,  brilliant  as  gems;  flowers  and  quietude; 
the  absence  of  disturbing  passion  ; the  song  of  joy  ; faith 
triumphant;  the  sense  of  beatitude,  — such  were  the  prom- 
inent traits  of  Lyric  art.  It  was  less  historical,  less  natu- 
ral, less  inclined  to  portraiture,  less  cosmopolitan,  than  the 
Epic  ; unequal  to  it  in  force  and  breadth,  but  its  superior 
in  spiritual  beauty. 

As  late  as  1438,  in  a decree  regulating  the  election  of 


190 


ITS  STATUTES  AND  DECREES. 


an  architect  to  the  Duomo,  it  is  provided  on  the  one  hand 
that  no  person  of  immoral  life  in  any  respect,  or  who  is 
suspected  even  of  vice,  shall  be  eligible  to  the  office ; while, 
to  duly  honor  whoever  may  be  elected,  to  show  the  respect 
the  republic  entertains  for  an  artist  qualified  for  so  impor- 
tant a post,  and  to  increase  its  dignity,  he  is  to  be  knighted 
and  pensioned,  with  an  annuity  to  his  widow,  if  he  leave 
one. 

A decree  of  1456  observes  “that  no  state  or  supreme 
council  can  maintain  itself  and  properly  rule  without  the 
aid  of  the  Omniscient  God  and  his  most  Holy  Mother.” 
The  Duomo  is  styled  •“  one  of  the  eyes  as  well  as  the 
crown  ” of  Siena,  and  the  utmost  respect  demanded  for 
divine  worship. 

When  Taddeo  di  Bartolo  was  commissioned  to  paint  the 
chapel  of  the  Palazzo  Publico,  the  ordinance  ran,  to  do  it 
in  the  most  liberal  manner,  adorning  it  with  “ whatever 
figures,  ornaments,  gold,  and  other  devices  should  seem 
expedient  to  him,  for  the  ornament  of  said  chapel  and  the 
honor  of  the  republic,”  the  remuneration  to  be  adjusted  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  work  by  the  award  of  two  artists, 
one  appointed  by  the  state  and  the  other  by  the  painter. 

When  Duccio  had  completed  his  great  picture,  a.  d.  1310, 
after  having  labored  upon  it  three  years,  it  was  taken  in 
solemn  procession  from  his  studio  to  the  Duomo.  First 
marched  the  ecclesiastics  in  rich  vestments,  chanting  and 
burning  incense  ; then  the  civic  authorities  and  a long  file 
of  citizens,  all  of  whom  had  previously  fasted,  with  lighted 
candles  in  their  hands,  doing  solemn  honor  to  that  art 
whose  primary  inspiration  was  religion.  All  places  of 
business  were  closed.  Every  bell  in  the  city  was  eloquent- 
ly rung,  out  of  regard  to  “ so  noble  a picture.”  And  after 
it  was  deposited  upon  the  high  altar,  the  remainder  of  the 


MINO  OF  SIENA. 


191 


day,  so  we  learn  from  the  contemporary  records  in  the  Li- 
brary of  the  University,  6i  was  spent  in  prayer  and  alms- 
giving, beseeching  God  and  his  Mother,  our  Advocate,  to 
defend  us  from  evil,  and  to  preserve  us  from  the  hands  of 
all  traitors  and  enemies  to  Siena.” 

Nor  were  the  Sienese  less  careful  to  preserve  than  to 
honor  art.  Mino,  an  artist  otherwise  unknown,  in  1£87 
painted  on  the  western  end  of  the  great  hall  of  the  Palazzo 
Publico  a grand  fresco  of  the  Virgin  enthroned,  under  a 
canopy  sustained  by  the  twelve  apostles  and  the  tutelary  saints 
of  Siena.  On  her  knees  stands  the  infant  Jesus,  holding 
in  his  left  hand  the  charter  by  which  the  city  was  bestowed 
upon  the  Virgin  on  the  eve  of  the  victory  of  Mont’-Aperto. 
His  right  hand  is  uplifted  in  the  act  of  blessing.  Angels 
offering  lilies  kneel  before  Christ  and  his  Mother.  Twenty- 
eight  years  afterwards,  it  had  become  so  injured  by  the 
smoke  from  the  fires  kept  up  in  the  hall  that  Simone 
Martini  was  employed  to  restore  it.  After  which  the  citi- 
zens demanded  an  edict  forbidding  fires  to  be  lighted  near 
it,  lest  a painting  so  u detectable  to  the  eye,  so  rejoicing  to 
the  heart,  and  so  grateful  to  each  particular  sense  of  human- 
ity,” should  again  suffer. 

Enough  has  been  educed  to  show  how  solicitous  Siena 
was  to  exalt  religion,  and  to  purify  and  conserve  art,  sustain- 
ing and  honoring  it  with  politic  liberality  and  a correct  ap- 
preciation of  its  moral  and  aesthetic  value  to  the  state.  Much 
of  the  fruit  of  this  noble  policy  endures  to  this  day ; an 
eloquent  monument  of  the  dignified  sense  and  jealous  solici- 
tude both  of  rulers  and  artists,  and  in  reproachful  contrast 
with  the  materialism  which,  in  common  with  the  rest  of 
Italy,  finally  overpowered  Siena,  and  caused  even  her  art  to 
become  vapid  and  worthless. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  painters  themselves,  it  is  well 


192 


SIENESE  PIETY. 


to  note  the  characteristic  spirit  of  their  statutes.  They 
date  from  the  twelfth  century,  and  form  one  of  the  oldest 
fraternities  of  the  middle  ages.  A prolix  document  of 
1355  particularly  embodies  their  deep  religious  feeling. 
“ Since,”  it  says,  “ we  are  teachers  to  ignorant  men,  who 
know  not  how  to  read,  of  the  miracles  performed  by  virtue 
and  in  virtue  of  the  Holy  Faith,  and  the  fountains  of  our 
faith  are  principally  laid  in  the  adoration  and  belief  of  one 
God  in  Trinity,  and  in  God  in  infinite  power,  infinite  wis- 
dom, and  infinite  love  and  mercy ; and  since  no  undertak- 
ing, however  small,  can  have  a beginning  or  an  end  without 
these  three  things,  — that  is,  without  the  power  to  do,  with- 
out knowledge,  and  without  the  healthful  love  of  our  work 
( senza  con  amove  volere)  ; and  since  in  God  every  perfec- 
tion is  eminently  united,  now  to  the  end  that  in  our  calling, 
however  unworthy  it  may  be,  we  may  have  a good  begin- 
ning and  a good  ending  in  all  our  works  and  deeds,  we 
will  earnestly  ask  the  aid  of  the  Divine  grace,  and  com- 
mence by  a dedication  to  the  honor  of  the  name  and  in  the 
name  of  the  most  Holy  Trinity.” 

Their  ordinances  further  insisted  upon  fraternal  relations 
among  the  members  of  their  society,  a punctual  and  close 
observance  of  all  fasts  and  festivals,  and  upright  and  relig- 
ious lives.  They  also  provided  “ that  any  member  of  the 
guild  who  should  dare  to  use  in  his  work  any  gold,  silver, 
or  color,  other  than  that  he  may  have  promised  to  employ, 
as  for  instance  alloyed  gold  for  fine  gold,  tin  for  silver, 
cobalt  blue  for  ultra  marine,  indigo  for  azure,  red  ochre  or 
carmine  for  cinabrese,  should  be  punished  and  fined  upon 
every  conviction  ten  libri.”  Thus  it  was  that  sincerity  of 
sentiment  begot  sincerity  of  work,  and  it  is  precisely  in  the 
works  of  the  more  pious  artists  of  the  Tuscan  schools  that 
the  purity  and  value  of  pigments  are  most  conscientiously 


TADDEO  GADDI. 


193 


adhered  to.  Exceptions  there  were  of  inferior,  unscrupulous 
men  who  did  their  work  slovenly  and  cheaply,  and  pandered 
to  stingy  employers.  But  the  spirit  of  religious  art  was 
in  itself  not  only  truthful,  earnest,  solemn,  and  dutiful,  but 
strengthened  by  the  maxims,  rules,  and  exercises  best  cal- 
culated to  keep  the  sacred  flame  bright  and  unsullied. 

Cennino  Cennini  connects  the  use  of  good  colors,  espe- 
cially in  painting  the  Blessed  Virgin,  with  religious  duty, 
adding,  in  the  simple  honesty  of  his  heart,  that  if  the 
painter  be  underpaid,  “ God  and  our  Lady  will  reward 
him  in  body  and  soul.” 

Of  Lyric  artists  there  is  but  one  Florentine  of  this  epoch 
ranking  as  a great  master  whom  it  seems  to  us  expedient, 
from  the  general  tone  of  his  art,  to  transfer  from  his 
immediate  natal  associations  to  those  which  cluster  more 
particularly  about  the  Sienese  painters.  The  Christian 
concord  and  generous  emulation,  with  the  lasting  friendship 
which  united  Taddeo  Gaddi  (1300— 1366)  to  Simone 
Martini  of  Siena  (1^84— 1344),  by  a mistake  of  the  early 
biographers  called  Memmi,  because  confounded  with  his 
brother-in-law,  Lippo  Memmi,  are  additional  reasons  for 
coupling  their  names  under  this  head.  And  it  seems  nat- 
ural that  as  congeniality  of  taste  and  feeling  united  them 
in  life,  there  should  exist  in  Taddeo’s  works  a kindred  ex- 
pression to  that  of  Simone’s,  who  so  conspicuously  repre- 
sents this  branch  of  painting.  But  each  of  these  distin- 
guished artists,  as  was  common  to  all  the  great  masters  of 
their  school,  had  likewise  the  capacity  for  dramatic  repre- 
sentation, which  they  more  or  less  successfully  indulged  in. 
Consequently,  they  are  classed  as  Lyric  artists  only  because 
their  inmost  affections  and  usual  artistic  language  ran  in 
this  direction. 

Giotto,  who  was  the  godfather  of  Taddeo  Gaddi,  re- 

13 


TADDEO  GADDI. 


m 

ceived  him  into  his  studio  at  twelve  years  of  age,  where 
he  remained  until  his  master’s  death.  Being  eminent  also 
as  an  architect,  he  was  appointed  his  successor  for  complet- 
ing the  Campanile  of  Florence.  Force  or  originality  is  not 
his  characteristic.  He  was  a cultivated  scholar  and  an  apt 
pupil,  repeating  with  weakened  expression  the  acquirements 
of  his  master.  Less  comprehensive  and  penetrating,  lack- 
ing dramatic  power  and  profound  invention,  unequal  in  de- 
sign, occasionally  in  details  excelling  Giotto,  and  at  other 
times  repeating  the  faults  of  the  previous  generation  of 
painters,  narrow,  half-closed  eyes,  bodies  wanting  in  sym- 
metry and  proportion,  sometimes  with  heads  placed  awry, 
warmer  in  color,  yet  as  a whole  possessed  of  grace,  ten- 
derness, and  refinement,  highly  spiritual,  simple,  sweet,  and 
poetical,  in  art  and  character,  a Christian  and  gentleman, 
— such  was  the  friend  of  Simone  and  cherished  pupil  of 
Giotto. 

While  with  the  latter,  his  highest  ambition  seems  to 
have  been  to  reproduce  him.  After  Giotto’s  death,  at  first 
he  appears  by  contrast  with  his  master  hard  and  timid,  as 
if  unaccustomed  to  go  alone.  The  best  specimens  of  this 
period  are  the  well-preserved  frescoes  of  the  Spanish 
Chapel  of  Sta.  Maria  Novella  at  Florence.  But  in  those 
of  Sta.  Croce,  we  find  him  the  full-fledged  artist,  with  an 
individuality  and  variety  of  thought  and  style  remarkably 
pleasing,  especially  in  his  charming  composition  of  the 
44  Dedication  of  the  Virgin.” 

Sachetti,  a contemporary  writer,  in  his  one  hundred  and 
thirty-sixth  tale  relates  that  at  a circle  of  artists  Andrea 
Orgagna  proposed  for  discussion  the  following  question  : 
14  Who  is  the  greatest  master,  setting  Giotto  out  of  the 
question  % ” Some  maintained  that  Cimabue  was  ; others 
Bernardino  (Orgagna?),  Bufialmacco,  and  Stefano.  When 


JACOBO  DI  CASENTINO. 


195 

it  came  to  Taddeo’s  turn,  he  simply  remarked  “ Truly  these 
are  very  able  painters,  but  the  art  is  decaying  every  day.” 
This  anecdote  betrays  his  timid,  conservative  character  and 
fear  of  those  innovations  which  ultimately  completed  the 
progress  initiated  by  his  master,  to  whose  style  and  manner 
he  evidently  would  have  restricted  art. 

When  dying,  he  consigned  his  son  Angelo  to  his  friend 
and  scholar,  Jacobo  di  Casentino,  who,  in  conjunction  with 
Giovanni  di  Milano  was  to  teach  him  the  practice  of  his 
art  and  the  duties  of  a Christian.  Jacobo  was  also  the 
master  of  Spinello  Aretino.  Of  him  and  his  contemporary, 
Bernardino  Daddi,  time  has  spared  us  no  authentic  speci- 
mens. Other  third-rate  artists  of  this  period  are  spoken 
well  of  by  various  authors,  but  they  followed  in  the 
beaten  track  of  greater  men,  weakly  repeating  their 
thoughts  and  styles.  Many  altar-pieces  and  easel  pic- 
tures that  have  come  down  to  us  ambitiously  baptized,  are 
doubtless  the  productions  of  these  imitative  or  mechanical 
minds,  who,  from  intimate  association  as  scholars  or  hire- 
lings with  distinguished  artists,  managed  to  acquire  not 
only  considerable  skill  but  subsequently  have  appropriated 
to  themselves  through  the  accidents  of  time  not  a little  of 
their  fame  also.  How  far  Jacobo  is  to  be  ranked  with 
these  we  have  few  means  of  observing,  though  in  the 
pictures  attributed  to  him  there  is  nothing  to  elevate  him 
above  this  class.  He  labored  until  ninety  years  old,  ac- 
tive to  the  last. 

We  now  come  to  the  most  brilliant  of  the  Lyric  artists, 
Simone  Martini.  He  is  so  filled  with  the  joy  of  life,  so 
prolific  in  grace  and  beauty,  so  tender  in  sentiment,  so  noble 
in  character,  delicate  and  bri  gin  in  color,  so  copious  in  all 
that  has  its  origin  in  the  finer  sensibilities  of  our  being, 
with  a keen,  sympathetic  eye  for  nature,  that  one  is  irre- 


196 


SIMONE  MARTINI. 


sistibly  attracted  towards  him  at  first  sight.  Like  Giotto, 
he  travelled  much,  being  warmly  welcomed  everywhere  he 
went.  Indeed  he  was  second  only  to  him  in  reputation. 
At  Avignon  he  painted  the  chapel  of  the  papal  palace,  but 
this  fresco  with  his  portrait  of  Laura,  praised  by  Petrarch, 
has  disappeared.  The  best  remaining  works  of  his  are  the 
frescoes  in  the  Lower  church  of  St.  Francis  at  Assisi,  and 
those  well-preserved  ones  painted  in  friendly  competition 
with  Taddeo  Gaddi  in  the  Spanish  Chapel  of  Sta.  Maria 
Novella  at  Florence.  German  criticism,  with  its  obdurate 
predilection  for  material  facts  and  incredulity  of  unbelief, 
overlooking  too  often  the  stronger  evidence  of  sentiment 
and  feeling,  has  questioned  Simone’s  claim  to  the  author- 
ship of  these  frescoes,  simply  because  Guidilotto,  the  found- 
er of  the  chapel,  in  his  will  bequeathes  certain  moneys  in 
trust  to  his  brother  Domenico,  to  finish  the  paintings.  Now 
this  was  in  1355.  As  Simone  died  in  1344,  it  is  asserted 
that  he  could  not  have  painted  them.  But  Taddeo  Gaddi 
also  worked  here.  He  was  alive  eleven  years  after  the  date 
of  the  will,  and  the  more  rational  presumption  would  be 
that  the  trust  referred  to  him  and  not  to  Simone.  Forster 
objects  also  to  the  authorship  of  the  latter,  on  the  ground 
that  their  chief  character  is  Thought  rather  than  Feeling, 
which  is  Simone’s  usual  manifestation.  But  these  frescoes 
were  done  in  his  prime.  It  is  true  that  his  idiosyncrasy 
was  towards  feeling.  His  mind,  however,  had  a wide 
grasp  and  universal  action.  He  had  gained  much  by  travel 
and  study.  Accordingly,  while  we  perceive  in  these  paint- 
ings the  Sienese  type  of  coloring  and  sentiment,  there  is  also 
a deeper  vein  of  thought  and  more  lively  movement  than  is 
common  in  that  school.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  in  paint- 
ing in  companionship  with  the  greatest  of  the  Giotteschi, 
and  under  the  direct  inspiration  of  the  works  of  the  master 


IF 


. 


GERMAN  CRITICISM. 


197 


himself  1 An  eclectic  mind  spontaneously  imbibes  truth 
and  beauty  from  every  available  source,  developing  itself 
in  corresponding  directions.  Besides  the  internal  evidence 
of  the  frescoes  themselves,  the  unquestioned  acquiescence 
of  so  many  centuries  in  ascribing  them  to  Simone  Martini, 
a foreigner  too  and  a rival,  amid  a jealous,  invidious  popu- 
lation, is  of  great  weight  in  his  favor. 

There  is  a sort  of  criticism  which  consumes  truth  as  rust 
eats  into  iron.  It  delights  in  labyrinthine  erudition  and 
destructive  power.  Content  to  demolish  and  careless  to 
rebuild,  on  the  slightest  apparent  discrepancy  of  fact  or 
method  it  essays  to  overturn  long-received  opinions.  While 
admitting  the  value  of  modern  investigation  into  the  Past, 
particularly  the  keen-sighted  German,  we  must  not  be  too 
readily  seduced  from  our  allegiance  to  what  has  been  sanc- 
tioned by  the  testimony  of  time,  when  sustained  by  internal 
evidence  of  character  and  probabilities  of  circumstance,  on 
the  discovery  of  a stray  date  or  a perhaps  carelessly  worded 
document.  If  previous  cause  has  existed  to  distrust  tradi- 
tion, such  evidence  is  often  conclusive.  But  if  otherwise, 
it  is  quite  as  likely  to  err  itself  or  to  be  misapplied  as  that 
the  entire  sentiment  of  a work  and  belief  of  many  gener- 
ations of  judges  should  be  in  the  wrong. 

The  fresco  on  the  northern  wall  is  an  elaborate,  skilfully 
composed,  symbolical  composition,  illustrating  Divine  and 
Human  Truth  in  charge  respectively  of  the  Church  and 
Civil  Power,  the  one  represented  by  the  Pope,  the  other 
by  the  Emperor.  It  contains  portraits,  so  Vasari  declares, 
of  Cimabue,  Laura,  Petrarch,  and  Simone  himself,  with  a 
representation  of  the  Duomo  of  Florence  according  to  the 
original  design  of  Arnolfo  di  Lapo.  Some  of  the  groups 
are  forcibly  rendered,  with  marked  individuality  of  thought 
and  action.  On  the  eastern  wall,  in  one  grand  composition, 


198 


FRESCO  IN  SPANISH  CHAPEL. 


are  the  Procession  to  Calvary,  the  Crucifixion  and  the  De- 
scent into  Hades ; somewhat  crowded  and  confused,  but 
with  intense  feeling,  and  much  dignity  and  grace  in  indi- 
viduals. In  this  chapel  we  have  ample  means  of  compari- 
son between  Simone  and  Taddeo.  In  originality,  scope, 
and  strength,  with  softer  and  more  harmonious  coloring,  a 
keener  sympathy  for  nature,  animals  spiritedly  given,  and 
an  evident  love  of  landscape,  the  preference  is  decidedly 
with  the  former.  Yet  in  his  figures  representing  the  seven 
theological  sciences  the  latter  is  very  truthful  and  noble, 
and  the  entire  chapel  affords  one  of  the  most  interesting 
monuments  of  fresco  painting  of  the  fourteenth  century 
now  extant.* 

No  description  can  adequately  represent  the  compositions 
of  the  great  masters.  The  sole  way  to  know  them  is  by 
direct  study,  or  by  means  of  photographs  taken  from 
the  originals.  Feeling  the  impotence  of  multiplying 
words  to  do  justice  to  them,  we  shall  but  briefly  allude  to 
characteristic  specimens,  rather  as  suggestions  for  study  and 
comparison  than  as  attempts  at  forestalling  either.  More- 
over it  should  be  borne  in  mind,  that  in  giving  in  general 
terms  the  distinguishing  traits  of  artists,  our  standard  of 


* PI.  F,  fig.  17,  a wing  of  an  altar-piece,  the  design  of  a portion  of  which 
is  preserved  among  the  drawings  of  the  old  masters  in  the  Uffizi,  is  a favorable 
specimen  of  Simone’s  manner.  In  the  upper  portion,  where  the  angels  an- 
nounce the  glad  tidings  to  the  shepherds,  instead  of  the  usual  star,  he  gives 
the  effigy  of  the  divine  babe  itself  in  the  heavens,  swathed  after  the  fashion  of 
infants  in  Italy.  The  group  of  horses,  camels,  and  attendants  in  the  lower  part, 
not  crowded,  though  in  so  small  a space,  is  most  spirited  and  natural ; admira- 
bly composed,  with  a truth  of  movement  that  reminds  one  of  Horace  Vernet. 
Its  perspective  and  foreshortening  are  quite  remarkable,  and  in  color  it  is  pe- 
culiarly rich  and  harmonious.  Beside  the  Virgin  are  two  graceful  female  at- 
tendants, one  of  whom  is  Mary  Salome,  who  having  been  present  at  the  birth 
to  assist  the  Madonna,  vowed  henceforth,  so  runs  the  pious  legend,  to  wait 
both  on  mother  and  son,  as  long  as  either  lived.  Simone  heightens  the  poverty 
of  the  lowly  birthplace  of  the  Saviour  by  contrasting  it  with  magnificent  archi- 
tecture in  its  close  vicinity. 


LIPPO  MEMMI. 


199 


judgment  is  based  on  their  best  and  most  known  works, 
while  the  illustrations  of  this  volume  are  simply  to  give  an 
idea  of  some  of  their  traits,  taken  from  specimens  visible  to 
the  American  public. 

Lippo  Memmi,  who  died  in  1337,  worked  with  Simone 
Martini,  hut  was  in  every  respect  his  inferior.  Another  of 
his  pupils,  a nephew,  named  Fra  Martini,  painted  at  Assisi 
between  134*7  aud  1338.  Nothing  is  known  of  Simone’s 
private  life.  W e can  infer  from  the  beautiful,  elevated  type  of 
his  heads,  and  from  the  silence  of  history,  that  it  was  calm, 
successful,  and  pleasant.  Had  he  been  a wit  like  Giotto,  or 
the  petted  friend  of  sovereigns,  we  certainly  should  have 
known  it.  Contemplative,  amiable,  and  pure-minded  he 
certainly  was ; for  his  pictures  declare  that.  Petrarch  was 
warmly  attached  to  him.  Tradition  makes  him  in  person 
as  ugly  as  Giotto.  But  his  portrait # displays  a noble 
head,  expressive  of  much  refinement  and  intelligence.  In- 
deed, if  we  may  trust  the  same  source  for  that  of  Giotto, 
he  by  no  means  warranted  Dante’s  uncomplimentary  wit. 

One  of  the  most  distinguished  artistic  families  of  this 
period  was  that  of  Lorenzo  or  Lorenzetto  of  Siena.  The 
father,  whom  it  is  unnecessary  more  particularly  to  mention, 
flourished  in  the  latter  part  of  the  thirteenth  century ; a 
clever  artist,  but  now  remembered  only  in  connection  with 
his  celebrated  sons,  Ambrogio  and  Pietro  Laurati,  both 
] ainters  of  marked  originality  and  power. 

Ambrogio  (1263— 13-48]  divided  with  Simone  Martini 
the  empire  of  art  at  Siena.  He  excelled  in  historical  as 
well  as  allegorical  and  religious  compositions.  Among  his 
townsmen,  Simone  was  the  most  popular.  This  was  owing 
to  his  being  more  readily  understood.  Ambrogio  was  pro- 
founder  in  thought  and  grander  in  execution,  if  credit  can 


* See  Vasari’s  Lives,  Lemonier’s  edition. 


200 


AMBROGIO  LAURATI. 


be  given  to  the  eulogium  of  Ghiberti  upon  his  most  cele- 
brated painting,  “ The  Career  of  a Franciscan  Missionary,” 
formerly  in  the  cloisters  of  the  church  of  St.  Francesco  at 
Siena,  but  now  no  more.  According  to  him,  it  was  “a 
marvellous  thing  truly.”  One  scene  represented  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  some  proselyting  monks  by  order  of  the  Sultan. 
At  the  instant  of  their  decapitation  a violent  earthquake, 
accompanied  with  a terrific  thunder-storm,  took  place,  creat- 
ing the  wildest  uproar  and  confusion  of  the  elements  and 
affright  among  the  Moslem  crowd.  One  is  thrown  from 
his  horse  and  killed.  Soldiers  and  people,  palsied  by  ter- 
ror, know  not  whither  to  fly  for  protection.  Huge  hail- 
stones strike  them  to  the  ground.  A furious  hurricane 
swells  the  elemental  strife,  and  overturning  the  tallest 
trees  or  wrenching  off  their  stoutest  branches,  sends  them 
madly  whirling  through  the  air.  So  reads  the  record  left 
of  an  effort,  as  bold  as  it  was  rare,  to  represent  a convulsion 
of  nature,  by  one  of  a school  whose  sentiment  and  technical 
power  were  adverse  to  such  scenes. 

We  have,  however,  evidence  of  the  capacity  of  Ambro- 
gio,  still  existing,  though  in  an  injured  condition,  in  that 
noble  museum  of  art  at  Siena,  the  Palazzo  Publico,  in  a 
series  of  frescoes,  the  subject  of  which  is  “ Good  and  Evil 
Government.”  They  form  an  elaborate  allegorical  compo- 
sition, covering  a large  space,  filled  with  majestic  symbol- 
ical figures  and  graphic  scenes,  warm  and  rich  in  tone, 
more  inclining  to  Duccio  than  to  Simone  in  those  respects, 
highly  poetical,  and  intended  to  convey  a grand  moral  les- 
son to  the  factious  Italian  communities,  which  it  would 
have  been  well  for  all  had  they,  in  its  prime,  fully  noted 
and  inwardly  digested.  Now,  owing  to  bad  restoration 
and  the  corroding  effects  of  time,  it  is  shorn  of  its  original 
splendor ; its  technical  defects  are  prominent ; and,  like  an 


AMBROGIO  LAURATI. 


201 

often-told  tale,  its  spirit  has  departed,  and  nought  remains 
but  the  shadow  of  its  former  self.  Still  the  lover  of  art 
and  student  of  history  will  find  much  to  arrest  his  atten- 
tion. The  consequences  of  good  and  evil  rule  — peace, 
happiness,  and  security  on  the  one  hand ; on  the  other,  lust, 
license,  tyranny,  and  cruelty  — are  strikingly  contrasted, 
by  the  scenes  which  the  civil  strifes  of  the  time  rendered 
but  too  familiar  to  every  one,  whilst  the  intervals  of 
domestic  quiet  testified,  through  the  enterprise  of  the 
peoples,  to  the  truths  which  Ambrogio  idealized  into  a 
seductive  picture  of  the  blessings  of  well-ordered  civiliza- 
tion. Either  spectacle  was  made  emphatic  by  graceful, 
dignified,  and  highly  significant  personifications  of  the  Vir- 
tues and  Vices,  and  by  majestic  figures,  male  and  female, 
representing  Good  Government  and  Siena  ; Evil  Govern- 
ment being  correspondingly  personified,  but  with  horns 
and  the  emblems  of  wickedness.  To  make  its  meaning 
more  clear,  the  artist  inscribed  upon  it,  in  scrolls,  appropriate 
texts  and  verses,  the  latter  probably  composed  by  himself. 

If  the  execution  of  this  class  of  paintings  be  greatly  in- 
ferior to  the  conception,  — and  this  age  is  disposed  to  crit- 
icise the  work  more  than  the  thought,  — we  must  bear  in 
mind  that  the  principal  object  of  the  religious  masters  was  to 
Teach  — to  Preach,  we  may  say.  Printed  books  were  not. 
Manuscripts  were  scarce  and  expensive.  Tbe  age  delight- 
ed in  the  language  of  the  senses.  The  people  had  neither 
time  nor  inclination  for  abstract  studies.  The  masses  had 
to  be  addressed  in  poetical,  pictorial  expression,  appealing 
quickly,  forcibly,  and  pleasantly  to  their  moral  and  mental 
faculties.  The  arts,  consequently,  were  material  mediums 
of  knowledge  and  religion.  Painting  was  an  Encyclope- 
dia of  facts,  a Manual  of  duties  and  exhortation.  Hence 
the  chief  concern  of  the  artist  was  to  convey  his  idea  close- 


£02 


FRESCO  PAINTING  THE  ORATORY  OF  ART. 


ly  home  to  his  audience.  Fresco  painting  was  the  oratory 
of  art.  It  addressed  itself  with  sensuous  eloquence  to  the 
unlettered  multitude,  while  easel  pictures  were  the  books 
of  mediaeval  life,  the  tracts  for  household  edification.  Both 
artist  and  spectator  were  chiefly  governed  hy  one  object  in 
art.  Not  that  born  of  the  next  century,  and  which,  at 
first  legitimate  and  truthful,  sought  simply  to  wed  reason 
to  sentiment,  and  to  give  to  artistic  expression  its  correct 
aspect,  finally  degenerating,  as  we  shall  have  occasion  to 
see,  into  barren  thought  and  lifeless  dexterity ; but  to  con- 
vey homilies  for  guidance  in  temporal  life,  and,  hy  pictorial 
and  plastic  prophecies  and  revelations,  to  open  the  sight  to 
the  joys  and  woes  of  eternity.  Imaginations  were  spiritu- 
ally exercised.  Ideas  drawn  from  the  abstract,  mystical, 
or  doctrinal,  sought  suggestive  forms ; going  to  nature  not 
so  much  for  models  as  for  hints ; content,  if  successful  in 
incarnating  the  incorporeal  into  sensuous  organization  suf- 
ficiently well,  as  with  loose  rein  of  thought  and  hand,  to 
be  intelligible  to  their  audiences.  Hence  their  prolific  im- 
agery,  profound  symbolism,  deep  meaning,  graceful  or 
grand  sentiment,  spiritual  rendering,  and  faithful  interpene- 
trating of  matter  as  color  and  form  with  the  instinct  of 
their  idea ; causing,  as  by  the  touch  of  Moses,  the  rude 
rock  to  give  forth  living  waters  for  thirsty  souls.  Theirs 
were  interpretations  more  than  delineations.  They  did  not 
so  much  copy  as  create.  Art,  with  them,  was  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  inner  rather  than  the  outer  life.  We  find,  in 
consequence,  much  carelessness,  even  rudeness,  of  drawing, 
quaintness  of  conception,  and  a panoramic  movement  or 
repetition  ; a naivete  and  frankness ; an  absence  of  conceal- 
ment or  artifice ; in  short,  a childish  recklessness  as  to 
what,  two  centuries  afterwards,  came  to  be  considered  as 
the  highest  efforts  in  painting : all  of  which  has  a peculiar 


ARTISTS  WERE  PREACHERS  OF  THE  WORD. 


203 


fascination  to  those  who  value  sincerity,  straightforward- 
ness, and  earnestness,  based  upon  deep  thought  and  holy 
motive,  above,  at  first  view,  the  more  captivating  but  su- 
perficial graces  of  art  on  which  modernism  at  large  pins 
its  faith  and  love.  Hence  a necessity,  if  we  would  under- 
stand, not  to  say  sympathize  with,  their  art,  of  making 
ourselves  fully  acquainted  with  its  Intent ; first  by  its  ab- 
stract principles,  and  secondly,  by  a knowledge  of  the  doc- 
trines, traditions,  religious  ideas,  and  facts  which  underlie 
its  meaning,  and  the  rules  of  expression,  more  theological 
than  aesthetic,  to  which  it  ever  remained  more  or  less  sub- 
ject. This  done,  we  shall  be  less  impatient  at  the  multi- 
tude of  compositions  based  upon  the  religious  faith  of  the 
age,  repetitions  though  they  be  of  the  same  themes  ; for 
the  mediae valists,  like  ourselves  in  modern  art,  with  the 
landscape  and  genre  subjects,  but  gave  free  utterance  to 
what  was  next  their  hearts. 

Our  artists  being  Preachers  of  the  Word,  it  behooved 
them  to  give  heed  as  to  what  manner  of  men  they  were. 
Between  their  profession  and  their  deportment  the  public 
expected  the  same  holy  connection  that  we  demand  in  our 
ministers  of  the  Gospel.  Nor  were  they  oftener  disap- 
pointed. Nothing  is  more  winning  than  the  simple  eu- 
logiums  with  which  the  old  chroniclers  sum  up  the  biogra- 
phies of  the  principal  artists  of  this  period  ; attesting  their 
literary  attainments,  studious  habits,  courteous  manners, 
sincere  affections  ; in  short  their  virtue,  godliness,  and 
single-heartedness  as  Christian  gentlemen. 

Of  few  is  Vasari  more  emphatic  in  praise  than  of  Ambro- 
gio  Lorenzetti.  u In  his  youth,”  he  says,  “ Ambrogio  studied 
literature,  and  found  her  through  his  whole  life  a useful  and 
pleasant  companion,  making  him  no  less  agreeable  and 
amiable  as  a man  than  excellent  as  an  artist.”  His  society 


20J 


YANNI  AND  BERNA. 


was  sought  by  the  learned  and  refined,  and  his  country 
honored  him  with  important  official  trusts.  44  In  habits 
and  manners  he  was  every  way  commendable ; ” content 
with  the  blessings  of  the  hour  and  receiving  with  placid  mind 
alike  the  frowns  or  smiles  of  fortune ; an  example  in  every 
respect  of  that  deportment  which  should  at  all  times  accred- 
it genius  to  the  world.  And  so  Ambrogio  passed  cheer- 
fully and  piouslv  from  this  life  to  a better  shortly  after  com- 
pleting his  eighty-third  year,  a victim  most  probably  to  the 
pest  which  in  134-8  cut  short  so  many  noble  lives  in  Siena. 

He  was  succeeded  by  a generation  of  weak  artists,  who 
have  left  behind  them  nothing  remarkable.  Among  them 
was  Andrea  Vanni  (134<5— 14<13),  the  painter  of  the  44  Pro- 
cession to  Calvary,”  of  which  Sienese  tradition  states  that 
the  Wandering  Jew  in  passing  through  Siena  certified  to 
the  correctness  of  the  likeness  of  the  Saviour.  Berna  and 
Pietro  di  Puccio  left  works  that  Vasari  attributed  to  Buffal- 
macco.  This  error  shows  that  the  semi-Byzantine  style 
obtained  much  later  among  the  Sienese  than  the  Floren- 
tines. Berna  was  killed  by  a fall  from  a scaffold  while  at 
work  in  the  Duomo  of  Sail  Gimignano.  The  people  with 
their  usual  enthusiasm  for  artists  went  daily  to  suspend 
offerings  and  eulogistic  verses  at  his  tomb. 

There  are  artists  of  this  epoch  singularly  sweet  and  spir- 
itual, and  so  celestial,  if  the  comparison  be  admissible,  in 
their  tones  of  color,  that  one  does  not  readily  forgive  time  for 
withholding  their  names.  Of  such  a character  is  the  small 
Triptych,  No.  61,  in  the  Academy  at  Siena;  the  very 
embodiment  of  heavenly  purity  and  chastity  ; literally  a 
pearl  of  a Madonna,  who,  robed  on  white,  floats  on  clouds 
of  blue  towards  heaven,  the  loveliest  interpretation  of  bea- 
tific vision  in  that  largely  spiritualized  collection  of  art. 

Don  Lorenzo,  a Camoldese  monk  of  Florence,  was  an 


DON  LORENZO. 


20  5 


artist  of  remarkable  purity  of  life ; oue  who  imparted  to  his 
paintings  an  elevated,  lyrical  sentiment  of  a strictly  relig- 
ious character,  as  befitted  his  profession.  He  was  pro- 
gressive, though  his  style  was  drawn  from  the  purest 
sources  of  the  Giotteschi,  with  flowing,  graceful  lines,  at 
times  exaggerated,  and  with  clear,  pure  coloring  and  a 
keen  feeling  for  the  joyous  and  innocent  in  nature  and  the 
glories  of  immortality,  particularly  perceptible  in  his  love 
for  angels  and  kindred  accessories.  His  compositions  are 
simple,  highly  finished,  and  very  rare.  They  relate  chiefly 
to  the  Life  of  the  Virgin.  One  dated  1413  is  in  the 
church  of  Cerreto  near  Certaldo  in  Tuscany;  others  in  the 
galleries  and  churches  of  Florence.  All  these  bespeak  a 
native  genius  which  if  it  had  not  been  too  much  shaded 
by  conventual  rigor  might  have  developed  into  greater 
strength  and  comprehensiveness. 

Whilst  in  Florence  the  direct  Giottesque  succession  was 
rapidly  being  overshadowed  and  extinguished  in  the  progres- 
sive development  of  other  characteristics,  it  held  its  ground 
more  firmly  in  Siena  through  the  influence  of  Taddeo  di 
Bartolo  ( 1363-1 42S),  an  artist  of  deserved  reputation. 
Following  the  track  of  feeling  and  conception  of  his  pred- 
ecessors, he  was  successful  in  attaining  originality  of  style 
and  thought,  marked  by  depth,  strength,  and  refinement. 
His  most  important  pieces,  executed  between  1406  and 
1414,  are  well  preserved  in  the  chapel  of  the  Palazzo  Pub- 
lico at  Siena.  Those  of  the  vestibule  are  drawn  from  Ro- 
man history,  and  represent  the  gods  and  great  men  of  Rome, 
from  which  city  Siena  claims  descent.  They  are  allegori- 
cally introduced  to  the  intent  to  impress  upon  rulers  the  ne- 
cessity of  avoiding  the  civil  discords  by  which  Rome  lost  her 
liberties,  and  of  giving  heed  to  the  examples  of  Cicero,  the 
Scipios,  and  others  of  her  patriots  and  heroes,  if  they  would 


206 


TADDEO  DI  BARTOLO. 


rival  their  virtues.  But  Taddeo  is  more  at  home  in  purely 
Christian  compositions,  especially  the  “ Death-scene  of  the 
Virgin,’’  in  which  the  apostles  are  gathered  about  her  bed, 
St.  John  kneeling  at  her  feet,  to  receive  her  farewell.  In 
a second  compartment,  as  she  expires,  our  Saviour  receives 
her  soul  into  his  arms  in  the  form  of  a little  child,  angels 
and  apostles  being  grouped  around,  the  latter  bitterly 
grieving,  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  their  Master. 
The  composition  is  Byzantine,  made  more  touching  and 
significant  by  the  imagination  of  Taddeo.  The  burial  and 
resurrection  are  equally  well  treated.  In  the  latter,  she 
ascends  from  the  sepulchre,  in  her  earthly  form,  buoyed 
up  by  cherubs,  at  the  call  of  her  son,  who  takes  her  hand. 
The  grief-stricken  apostles,  like  most  earthly  mourners 
with  their  eyes  unopened  to  the  glorious  realities  of 
immortal  life  around  and  above  them,  gaze  bewildered 
into  the  vacant  tomb.  But  the  Christian  artist  would 
have  us  see  the  entire  scene  as  revealed  to  his  spiritual 
sense,  and  take  heart  therefrom. 

Taddeo  di  Bartolo’s  compositions  are  rich  and  varied, 
combining  strength  with  repose.  We  miss  the  delicacy, 
freedom,  and  grace  of  Simone  Martini,  and  his  exquisite 
sympathy  with  external  nature.  But  there  is  instead  a 
rare  insight  into  the  soul  and  its  spiritual  conditions.  His 
works  greatly  influenced  subsequent  religious  artists,  es- 
pecially the  Umbrians.  The  type  of  his  Madonnas  and 
sacred  personages  he  derives  from  the  ideal  creations  of 
the  earliest  masters  ; the  full,  rounded  faces  and  unearthly 
dignity  of  Ugolino,  D uccio,  and  Cimabue,  Byzantine  in  fea- 
ture, rapt  and  mystical  in  expression,  with  the  somewhat 
improved  modelling  and  design  of  his  time.  In  drapery 
he  shows  a corresponding  advance.  But  the  union  is  not 
a happy  one.  For  whilst  the  abstract  beauty  that  charac- 


TADDEO  DI  BARTOLO. 


207 

terized  the  former  painters  is  well  reproduced,  enough 
accuracy  in  drawing  and  knowledge  of  anatomy  are 
displayed  to  provoke  technical  criticism.  Besides,  the 
moment  the  artist  oversteps  the  line  which  divides  the 
spiritual  ideal  from  the  natural  and  human,  seeking  to 
reconcile  two  widely  differing  principles  of  style,  he  con- 
founds both  and  necessarily  fails.  The  reason  is  obvious. 
A religious  artist,  aiming  at  spiritualities,  conscious  of  the 
impotence  of  material  to  go  beyond  the  mere  suggestion 
of  his  motive,  used  gold  and  color  to  that  end,  conveying 
his  meaning  more  by  qualities  of  ornament  and  types  of 
forms — spiritual  hieroglyphics  as  it  were  — than  by  scien- 
tific handling.  The  mystery  and  vagueness  of  the  thought 
with  the  corresponding  exaltation  of  sentiment  and  profuse 
use  of  those  vehicles  which  in  their  purest  and  simplest  con- 
ditions, most  strongly  correspond  to  or  suggest  spiritual 
ideas,  contributed  to  strengthen  his  intent.  This,  with  the 
feeling  that,  like  St.  Paul,  the  sight  of  the  ecstatic  artists 
is  at  times  let  into  that  world  nigh  but  invisible  to  us  all  ex- 
cept through  a power  of  prayer  or  miracle  vouchsafed 
to  but  few  of  earth’s  children,  explains  the  deep  hold  that 
such  painters  as  Fra  Angelico,  Sano  di  Pietro,  Lippo  Dal- 
masio,  and  their  class  have  upon  souls  impressible  to  divine 
mysteries,  and  who  are  themselves  penetrated  with  unutter- 
able longings  to  solve  immortality  and  find  a home  amid 
those  glorious  realities  so  imperfectly  foreshadowed  by 
faith  and  hinted  at  by  the  creative  imagination  of  excep- 
tional artists,  preciously  gifted  by  Heaven  with  the  pow- 
er of  manual  prophecy  and  revelation.  Benevolent  wis- 
dom screens  from  earthly  view,  by  means  of  material  or- 
ganization, celestial  scenes  which  it  is  not  yet  prepared  to 
look  upon  and  live.  But  the  craving  after  a realization  of 
spiritual  ideas  is  common  to  most  men.  We  hearken  curi- 


208 


SPIRITUAL  INSIGHT. 


ously  for  whispers  from  the  other  life,  and  cling  fervently 
to  the  skirts  of  those  souls  that,  more  favored  than  we, 
penetrate  thereunto.  Persuade  us  of  honesty  and  sincerity 
and  we  admit  their  credentials,  in  the  degree  of  their  ca- 
pacity to  bring  down  to  us  from  above  the  manna  we  seek. 
And  we  test  its  sweetness  by  responsive  affinities  garnered 
from  those  subtle  instincts  and  that  haunting  consciousness 
of  immortal  life,  whose  cheering  radiance  neither  the  shadows 
of  materialism  nor  the  fogs  of  reason  can  entirely  eclipse. 
To  those  who,  actually  hopeless  or  voluntarily  blind,  are 
incapable  of  receiving  confirmation  of  spiritual  truths  from 
that  art  which  is  the  correspondence  between  the  seen  and 
the  unseen,  and  who,  content  with  the  things  of  sense,  deny 
those  of  the  spirit,  such  interpretations  are  foolishness  and 
inanity.  The  rattling  of  the  dry  bones  in  the  valley  of 
death  is  more  substantial  and  true  to  them.  But  there  is 
a multitude  that  no  man  may  number  whose  hearts  are 
quickly  lifted  up,  momentarily  though  it  be,  out  of  the 
sphere  of  the  natural  into  the  supernatural  by  those  fellow- 
men,  poets  or  painters,  in  whom  the  supernal  element 
is  large  and  deep.  We  do  not  measure  their  communica- 
tions by  the  laws  of  physical  science  and  experience ; but 
through  a spiritually  quickened  imagination  soul  over- 
powers sense,  and  we  escape  with  them  into  a region  of  no 
less  substantial,  though  infinitely  more  refined,  sensibilities 
than  those  of  earth.  The  artist  therefore,  who  would  suc- 
ceed in  this  translation  of  ourselves  out  of  ourselves  into 
his  spiritual  point  of  view,  must  beware  how  he  attracts 
outward  senses  by  displays  of  academic  rules  and  material 
artifice.  The  instant  these  become  obvious,  as  mere  effects 
of  skill  on  his  part,  his  higher  prerogative  falls  to  the 
ground,  and  we  are  left  to  judge  him  by  the  standard  of 
nature’s  obvious  laws.  Not  that  there  should  not  be  cor- 


SENSUOUS  AND  SPIRITUAL  ART. 


£09 


rect  drawing'  and  graceful  design  in  the  highest  art ; but  it 
must  be  wholly  subsidiary  to  thought.  Exalted  topics,  a 
prayerful  peering  into  eternal  life,  and  the  thorough  carry- 
ing out  of  the  above  principle,  partly  from  moral  sense  and 
partly  constrained  by  technical  ignorance,  insured  the  suc- 
cess of  the  purists  in  art  in  the  language  of  spirituality. 
Success  it  was,  such  as  art  has  never  attained  before  nor 
since.  And  no  Madonna,  however  lovely  in  her  humanity, 
nor  spectacle  of  angels  and  saints,  in  all  the  sensuous  at- 
tractiveness of  strict  naturalism,  however  correct  in  draw- 
ing, harmonious  in  coloring,  and  strong  in  projection  by  the 
subtleties  of  chiaroscuro  and  foreshortening,  whether  of  Ti- 
tian or  Correggio,  in  comparison  with  the  golden  adorn- 
ments, naive  accessories,  flatness,  and  crude  outlines  of  ear- 
lier paintings,  repudiated  as  barbarisms,  and  with  the  errors 
of  design  also  the  virtues  of  sentiment, — no  such  painting, 
we  repeat,  affects  the  unbiased  spectator  half  so  emphati- 
cally with  religious  feeling  as  the  dignity  and  holiness  of 
that  art  that  was  born  of  Orgagna,  Giottino,  Cavallini,  and 
a host  of  kindred  minds.  Both  classes  of  artists  aimed  at 
success  by  different  methods  and  from  opposite  inspirations. 
Individual  preferences  depend  upon  the  respective  cultiva- 
tion awarded  to  soul  or  sense,  based  upon  primary  sensuous 
or  spiritual  impressibility.  There  is  equal  danger  in  ex- 
clusive sensibility  to  either.  As  before  stated,  contradic- 
tory though  it  seems  at  first  thought,  the  reaction  from 
each  extreme  is  to  sensualism  : the  one  ending  in  supersti- 
tion, and  the  other  in  materialism.  Consequently,  in  art  as 
in  life,  we  should  be  cosmopolitan  in  taste,  appreciating 
excellence  of  every  variety  and  degree,  led  captive  by  no 
single  thought  or  feeling,  but  cultivating  all  our  powers 
for  the  entire  lawful  enjoyment  and  use  of  our  being,  in 
reference  to  the  exalted  future  which  awaits  the  soul  that 


14 


210 


VECCHIETTA. 


elects  the  life  spiritual  and  eternal  in  preference  to  the  life 
external  and  sensual. 

This  digression,  though  suggested  by  Taddeo  di  Bartolo’s 
pictures,  has  led  farther  from  him  than  we  anticipated. 
Let  us  return.  His  color  inclines  to  the  deep  tones  of 
D uccio,  but  without  his  finish  and  harmony ; for  there  is 
something  harsh  and  hot  in  his  predominating  reddish 
browns,  and  he  liberally  uses  that  under-tint  of  green  so 
common  with  the  early  Sienese  painters.  He  is  the  last 
great  master  of  the  primitive  semi-Byzantine  succession. 
Domenico,  his  nephew,  for  a while  followed  his  example, 
hut  subsequently  went  over  to  naturalism.  Among  the  last 
artists  of  any  repute  in  Siena  who  adhered  to  gold  back- 
grounds and  the  old  style  was  Lorenzo  di  Pietro  Vecchi- 
etta  (140£— 1480),  who  was  also  a sculptor;  a cold,  man- 
nered, hard  painter,  feeble  in  color,  though  not  destitute  of 
dignity  of  sentiment.  He  was  of  a sad,  solitary  turn  of 
mind.  Although  more  successful  in  the  sister-art,  he  al- 
ways preferred  to  sign  his  works  as  a painter.  At  Siena 
he  represents  the  decadence  of  the  direct  Giottesque  style, 
as  do  the  Bicci  family  at  Florence,  but  never  like  them  did 
he  degrade  painting  to  the  level  of  manufacture. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


The  religious  Idealism  of  the  Giotteschi  — their  Subjects  and  Limits.  The  Phe- 
nomena of  Progress.  Birth  of  Individualism  in  Painting.  Its  Definition. 
Two  Currents,  Ascetic  and  Ecstatic.  Pietro  di  Lorenzetti,  1270-1342.  An- 
drea del  Castagno,  1410-1480,  the  Gibbeted.  Difficulty  of  comprehending 
the  extreme  Purists  and  Mystics.  Their  peculiar  Stand-point  in  Faith  and 
Art.  Reason  at  Fault.  Ecstatic  Feeling  the  Guide.  Saints  Francis  of  As- 
sisi and  Catherine  of  Siena.  The  Dangers  and  Tendencies  of  their  exceptional 
Feeling.  Saintly  Artists.  Lippo  Dalmasio,  1376-1410.  Sano  di  Pietro, 
1406-1481.  Fra  Angelico,  1387-1455.  Analysis  of  Motives  and  Styles. 
Color  as  identical  with  Character.  The  immediate  Scholars  of  Fra  Angelico. 
The  Sienese  Painters,  Francesco  Martini,  1470,  Sassetta,  1450,  Giovanni  di 
Paolo,  1428-1462.  Beautiful  Sonnet  to  the  Virgin  as  the  living  Faith  of  the 
Times. 


Thus  far  we  have  followed  the  course  of  the  great  tidal 
wave  of  artistic  Progress,  set  in  motion  by  Giotto  and  his 
brethren,  on  the  purely  Christian  plane  of  motive,  influenced 
to  a certain  extent  by  Byzantine  compositions,  hut  free  in 
expression  and  manner,  until  in  the  lapse  of  nearly  two  cen- 
turies it  had  exhausted  itself,  and  was  rapidly  yielding  to 
innovations  of  a different  inspiration.  All  that  has  been 
reviewed,  in  point  of  character,  was  latent  in  Giotto  himself. 
There  were  variations  and  departures  from  him ; artists 
who  improved  in  design  or  color,  and  displayed  individual 
force  or  feeling  ; hut  none  that  surpassed  him  in  original 
genius,  or  gave  any  new  and  powerful  impulse  to  painting. 
Orgagna,  Spinello,  Martini,  the  Lorenzetti,  Giottino,  and 
Taddeo  Bartolo,  in  the  main,  trod  in  his  steps ; not  feebly 
or  unworthily,  but  as  comprehending  his  mission  and  car- 
rying it  on  to  its  legitimate  issue.  But  after  them  came  a 


212 


RELIGIOUS  IDEALISM. 


series  of  feeble  minds  and  unskilful  hands,  whose  poor  pro- 
ductions reconciled  the  public  mind  to  the  fresh  changes 
which  the  spirit  of  progress  had  already  begun  in  art. 

We  have  observed  that  the  old  phase  was  character- 
ized by  strict  religious  idealism.  Thought  and  manner 
kept  together  in  the  same  broad  channel.  There  were  gen- 
eral types  and  traditional  likenesses  and  conventional  forms 
of  composition,  which  were  closely  followed  and  rarely  de- 
parted from,  because  orthodoxy  in  art  and  religion  were 
much  the  same.  Portraiture  was  exceptional  and  confined 
to  noted  individuals  of  the  day  ; not,  as  obtained  later,  in- 
troduced as  sacred  personages,  but  in  their  proper  charac- 
ter and  relations.  Giotto  led  the  way  in  this.  Subjects 
taken  from  other  sources  than  those  approved  or  suggested 
by  the  Church  and  indorsed  by  the  current  religious  senti- 
ments were  extremely  rare.  Dante’s  allegories,  Petrarch’s 
songs,  and,  more  uncommon  yet,  tales  of  chivalry,  classical 
history,  and  pagan  mythology,  furnished  a few  topics.  But 
one  must  diligently  search  to  discover  such  pictures, 
and  when  found,  we  perceive  that  they  are  treated  chiefly 
in  a moral  or  scholastic  aspect  and  in  the  same  chaste 
and  dignified  tone  that  belonged  to  the  more  popular  eccle- 
siastical subjects.  We  have  met  with  no  specimen  of  the 
latter  inspiration  before  Angelo  Gaddi. # Giotto  bequeathed 
historical  composition  to  his  followers.  Simone  Martini  in 
1828  painted  the  earliest  equestrian  portrait  known  in  Italian 
art,  that  of  Guido  Riccio,  a Sienese  chieftain,  in  an  histori- 
cal painting,  representing  Siena  and  the  siege  of  Monte- 
massi,  with  the  military  machines  of  the  day,  a fresco  on  a 
large  scale  in  chiaroscuro,  still  in  fine  condition  on  the 

* A beautiful  octagonal  picture  in  the  possession  of  Seymour  Kirkup,  Esq., 
Florence,  representing  The  Knight's  Tale,  a story  put  into  verse  both  by 
Chaucer  and  Dry  den. 


THE  NATURE  OF  PROGRESS. 


218 


walls  of  the  Council  Hall  in  the  Palazzo  Publico  at  Siena. 
But  historical  pictures  outside  of  the  Bible  were  uncommon. 
The  scriptures,  traditions,  legends,  and  dogmas  of  the 
Church,  with  its  numerous  army  of  saints  and  martyrs, 
continued  to  be  prolific  themes  of  art,  varied  by  allegory  for 
purposes  of  instruction  or  devotion,  and  treated  in  the  Gothic 
manner  of  golden  backgrounds  and  elaborate  ornamentation, 
the  mechanical  part  being  subordinated  to  the  abstract  idea. 

Peculiar  as  were  the  attractions  of  this  system,  art 
still  lacked  full  scope  of  progress,  because  not  sufficiently 
emancipated  from  ecclesiastical  control.  But  mind,  once 
habituated  to  even  a limited  freedom,  is  incited  to  try  all 
things.  Though  not  promptly  sagacious  in  separating  the 
tares  from  the  wheat,  once  in  motion  its  inherent  momen- 
tum inclines  it  to  push  experiment  and  problem  to  their 
uttermost  issues.  If  the  leaven  of  freedom  cannot  work 
off  its  lees,  society  declines.  By  no  other  process  may 
questions  that  concern  humanity  be  fully  solved.  Once 
proven,  no  fact  or  truth  is  lost.  Whatever  anguish  its 
birth-throes  may  have  cost  the  human  race,  there  it  remains, 
the  fruit  of  an  eternal  principle,  added  to  the  sum  total  of 
knowledge  in  store  for  coming  generations.  Each  epoch 
has  its  particular  virtues  and  vices.  Nature  does  not  repeat 
her  work.  She  changes,  but  retrogrades  never.  However 
golden,  therefore,  any  fragment  of  the  Past  may  seem,  it  is 
so  only  by  the  contrast  of  its  absolute  good,  garnered  into 
our  harvest  of  Wisdom,  with  present  evils.  The  sediment 
of  Progress  has  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the  stream  of  Time, 
while  its  surface  glistens  with  the  rich  rays  of  the  setting 
sun,  warming  it  into  soft,  dewy  beauty,  laden  with  repose 
and  alive  with  the  gladsome  associations  of  the  vanishing 
day.  This  hour  of  time  is  ever  more  full  of  charm,  from 
the  sense  of  labor  done  and  the  hope  of  the  morrow,  than 


NDIVI  DUAL  ISM  IN  ART. 


2U 

the  dazzling  magnificence  which  ushers  in  the  rising  sun, 
all-glorious  though  it  be  in  its  fire-lit  chariot,  reflecting 
light  straight  from  the  precious  stones  that  garnish  the 
walls  of  the  city  of  Heaven  itself.  That  speaks  of  labor  to 
be  done  and  toil  and  heat  to  be  borne.  Joy  is  with  the  Vic- 
tory. Fatigue  and  Doubt  with  the  Strife  of  Life.  Hence 
the  greater  delight  of  most  men,  in  counting  the  gains,  in 
looking  back  upon  the  bright  reflections  of  history,  than  in 
looking  forward  to  those  trials  and  struggles  out  of  which 
as  honeycomb  from  the  carcass  of  the  lion,  is  to  issue  their 
own  sweets.  Lot  s wife  left  a numerous  progeny,  content 
to  be  salt,  so  that  they  may  ever  gaze  backwards.  But 
Progress  pets  no  one.  Time  has  given  it  a duty  to  per- 
form and  destiny  shapes  its  course.  We  can  neither  avert 
nor  avoid  it.  At  its  appointed  hour,  each  phase  comes, 
grows,  and  goes  — morning,  noon,  and  night — answering 
completely  all  questions  honestly  put  to  it,  and  involving 
men  in  a web  of  cause  and  effect  out  of  which  there  is  no 
escape  save  by  the  beaten  track  of  experience.  In  this 
normal  movement  of  humanity,  the  decay  of  one  series  of 
events  fertilizes  the  human  soil  for  another,  whose  ten- 
dency is  to  correct  the  errors  of  its  progenitors,  laying  one 
more  stone  on  the  cairn  of  history ; then  in  its  turn  verging 
to  one-sidedness  and  extremes,  it  slowly  dies,  leaving' an  em- 
bryo successor  to  perpetuate  the  ceaseless  role  of  Progress. 

Painting,  though  the  fairest  daughter  of  civilization,  has 
no  exemption  from  the  common  destiny.  It  was  now  to 
evoke  a new  spirit,  needed  for  its  further  development ; that 
of  Individualism. 

By  individualism  we  mean  the  independent  action  of  each 
artistic  mind,  looking  to  nature  at  large,  history,  and  hu- 
manity for  inspiration,  moulding  itself  not  in  accordance 
simply  to  theological  dictation  or  the  wide-spread  feeling  of 


ASCETIC  AND  ECSTATIC  ART. 


215 


a people,  but  from  its  own  inward  bias  creating*  new 
methods,  introducing  new  ideas,  in  short  establishing  its 
right  of  choice  and  personality  of  expression  to  the  whole 
cycle  of  objects,  motives,  scenes,  and  passions  that  interest 
men  as  well  through  their  sensuous  and  intellectual  as  their 
religious  faculties. 

This  new  life-blood  had  become  indispensable  to  art,  for, 
as  has  been  shown,  its  Giottesque  phase  had  stagnated. 
Men  had  wearied  of  its  sameness.  Other  incitements  were 
required  to  animate  them.  These  were  generated  by  a new 
and  more  auspicious  Declaration  of  its  Independence.  But 
one  of  its  primary  manifestations  was  to  infuse  new  life 
and  spirituality  into  strictly  religious  art  itself. 

Before  entering  upon  an  analysis  of  the  great  stream 
which  flowed  from  this  new  fountain,  we  propose  to  float  our 
bark  for  a while  on  the  lesser,  but  purer  of  the  two ; the 
rightful  heir  of  Christian  painting.  It  differs  from  its 
predecessor,  not  so  much  in  motive  and  traditional  guidance 
as  in  its  superior  exaltation,  rising  higher  into  the  myste- 
ries of  eternal  life,  and  penetrating  deeper  into  the  psycho- 
logical secrets  of  human  nature. 

It  divides  itself  into  two  branches  : one  ascetic,  the  other 
ecstatic ; both  mystic  and  differing  as  night  from  day : for 
the  former  is  sad  and  wearisome,  painful  to  contemplate 
and  injurious  to  indulge  in,  finding  its  heaven  by  penance, 
in  the  wilderness,  and  all  that  makes  life  unjoyous  to  the 
healthy  soul:  whilst  the  other  lifts  man  into  immortality,  and 
makes  him  coequal  with  angels.  Each  appeals  to  the  inmost 
faculties;  each  threatens  the  sinner  with  unutterable  woe; 
and  each  rejoices  the  believer  with  glimpses  of  unspeak- 
able joy.  Both  concentrate  their  powers  on  a limited 
range  of  subjects,  compensating  for  their  lack  of  compre- 
hensiveness by  intensity  of  expression.  The  contrast  be- 


216 


PIETRO  LAURATI. 


tween  the  stern,  grave,  passionless,  painful,  self-torturing 
devotion  of  the  one,  intense  in  will,  cleaving  to  ugliness, 
dirt,  and  penance,  pitiless  in  feeling,  scorning  its  own  hu- 
manity, canonizing  its  self-elected,  repulsive,  and  attenuated 
martyrs,  with  their  gloomy  visions,  gross  trials  of  flesh,  and 
terrific  contests  in  solitude  with  Satan  in  person,  and  the 
ecstatic  delight,  celestial  harmonies,  and  angel-filled  trances 
of  the  other  class,  each  transfusing  its  soul  into  its  art,  is 
indeed  striking.  But  to  properly  appreciate  it,  we  should 
see  their  works  in  those  sacred  localities  for  which  they 
were  created,  and  amid  those  associations  that  gave  them 
religious  and  historical  value.  Isolated  in  museums  and 
galleries,  all  this  is  lost  and  they  are  reduced  to  their  mere 
technical  or  antiquarian  interest. 

We  shall  briefly  notice  the  most  prominent  of  their  artists, 
beginning  with  Pietro  di  Lorenzetti  (1£7 0—1342),  brother 
of  Ambrogio.  Strictly  speaking,  in  style  he  belongs  to  the 
lyrical  Giotteschi,  but  his  peculiar  feeling  places  him  under 
the  present  head.  Pietro,  or  Laurati  which  is  his  more  com- 
mon designation,  was  emphatically  the  painter  of  contempla- 
tive, ascetic  life.  He  was  not  a monk,  so  far  as  is  known, 
but  he  enters  so  completely  into  the  feeling  of  the  Fathers  of 
the  Desert,  with  such  naive  details  of  their  isolation,  trials, 
and  singular  satisfactions,  sympathizing  so  honestly  in  their 
exceptional  lives,  that  one  is  tempted  to  view  them  with  in- 
dulgence. Hermits  and  anchorites  are  his  favorite  themes, 
seen  from  the  angelical  side,  to  attain  which  condition  of 
soul,  through  a painful  regimen  of  fasting,  prayer,  peni- 
tence, self-denial,  and  solitude,  so  great  a multitude  in  the 
early  ages  of  the  Church  forsook  the  active  world  for  the 
wilderness.  Laurati  represents  their  manner  of  life,  with 
the  legendary  halo  that  encircled  it,  in  a series  of  remarka- 
ble' easel  paintings,  and  in  a grand  fresco  in  the  Campo 


PIETRO  LAURATI. 


217 


Santo  of  Pisa.  He  is  one  of  the  earliest  masters  who 
introduced  landscape  on  a broad  scale  as  the  groundwork 
of  his  pictures.  His  scenes  are  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile, 
which  he  makes  to  wind  amid  ranges  of  craggy,  trun- 
cated mountains,  guiltless  of  perspective,  thickly  sprinkled 
with  hermits’  cells,  caves,  and  monasteries.  The  entire 
monastic  life  passes  before  us  in  panoramic  review,  natural 
things  laden  with  allegorical  meaning,  its  struggles  with  a 
niggard  soil  and  fierce  climate  being  symbolical  of  conflicts 
with  still  more  obdurate  passions.  He  introduces  a great 
variety  of  plants  and  modes  of  industry ; the  brethren  in 
study  or  contemplation  ; animals  tame  or  ferocious,  all  sub- 
dued by  the  law  of  love  to  their  service ; in  one  group  a 
venerable  hermit  Bacchus-like  astride  a leopard  proud  of 
his  holy  burden  ; lions  humbly  doing  duty  as  horses  ; a 
bear  dancing,  taught  by  some  cunning  monk  whose  worldly 
reminiscences  were  strong  upon  him,  and  fearing  for  his 
own  soul  should  he  indulge  his  wanton  desires,  vicariously 
shifts  the  pleasure  and  the  sin  to  bis  pet  brute ; souls  in  all 
manner  of  dire  struggles  with  filthy  devils  ; chastity  warm- 
ly assaulted  by  feminine  charms,  whose  modest  garments 
fail  to  hide  the  claws  of  Satan,  which  will  peep  out  beneath, 
— pity  so  few  note  them,  — superior  sanctity  in  man  being 
represented  by  the  nearest  approach  in  general  appearance 
and  habits  to  the  brutes  with  which  they  so  affectionately 
consort : dirty,  shaggy,  and  repulsive  to  the  last  degree ; 
prevailing  quietism ; we  industrial  moderns  would  call  it  vag- 
abondism: such  is  the  general  character  of  these  paintings, 
into  which  Laurati  also  puts  a multitude  of  the  miraculous 
incidents  recorded  by  the  credulous  biographers  of  Saints 
Jerome,  Paid,  Anthony,  and  other  luminaries  of  asceticism. 

In  color  these  pictures  are  dark  but  not  inharmonious ; 
childish  in  the  mode  of  composition,  rude  and  artless  in 


218 


ANDREA  DEL  CASTAGNO. 


execution,  but  with  fine,  firm,  miniature  finish,  some  grace 
and  ease  of  outline,  general  truth  of  expression,  and  much 
freshness  and  life.  Laurati  did  not  confine  himself  wholly 
to  this  sort  of  composition.  He  had  almost  equal  power 
with  Fra  Angelico  over  spiritualities.  Witness  what  the 
materialist  Vasari  records  of  his  frescoes  at  Arezzo,  now 
gone.  The  most  beautiful  was  the  “ Assumption,”  which  for 
the  spirit  of  the  heads,  the  character  of  the  drapery,  the  ec- 
static joy  of  attending  angels,  as  with  celestial  chorus  they 
bore  the  Virgin  triumphantly  heavenward,  was  unexcelled, 
he  says,  by  any  production  of  that  time.  This  we  may 
credit  upon  the  merits  of  his  beautiful  altar-piece  in  the 
Uffizi,  a painting  singularly  celestial  in  its  sentiment  and 
clear  blue  tone,  impressing  the  spectator  as  with  rapturous 
music. 

The  repulsive  extreme  of  asceticism  was  fully  developed 
by  Andrea  del  Castagno  (1410—1480),  of  Florence.  Like 
Giotto,  his  talents  were  first  detected  by  his  clever  efforts 
with  charcoal  and  rude  instruments  in  drawing'  on  walls  and 
stones,  animals  and  other  objects.  He  was  placed  by  Ber- 
nadetto  de  Medici  under  regular  instruction,  and  he  profited 
by  it  sufficiently  to  acquire  no  inconsiderable  reputation, 
darkened  however  for  all  time  by  a fell  temper,  which  fi- 
nally prompted  him  to  murder  his  friend  and  rival  Domenico 
Veneziano,  who  having  introduced  into  Florence  the  secret 
of  painting  in  oil  acquired  thereby  much  profit  and  fame.* 
Castagno  perceiving  this  and  desiring  to  monopolize  the 
secret,  ingratiated  himself  into  his  confidence  by  assum- 

* Oil  painting  was  not  new  in  Tuscany  then,  for  there  is  a picture  still 
preserved  at  Siena,  painted  in  oil,  signed  Johannes  Pauli,  a.  d.  1436.  Gentile 
da  Fabriano  painted  in  this  method  considerably  earlier.  Indeed  we  have  no- 
tice of  oil  as  a vehicle  as  early  as  1200.  But  its  qualities  were  so  imperfectly 
understood  that  it  never  became  general  in  Europe  until  Van  Eyck  discovered 
its  peculiar  properties,  and  successfully  applied  them  to  painting. 


ASSASSINATES  VENEZIANO. 


219 


ing  to  be  a jovial  fellow,  accompanying  Domenico,  who 
was  musical,  in  bis  amorous  serenades  at  night,  and  with 
great  duplicity  so  winning  upon  bis  unsuspicious  na- 
ture that  in  return  for  his  seeming  good  offices  he  in- 
structed him  in  the  coveted  method.  Whereupon  Cas- 
tagno,  watching  his  opportunity,  waylaid  him  one  night 
on  his  return  from  visiting  his  mistress,  and  gave  him  a 
mortal  blow,  crushing  in  his  chest  with  a heavy,  leaden 
weight.  Being  disguised,  Domenico  failed  to  recognize  Iris 
assassin,  who  hurried  hack  to  his  chamber  and  went  to 
drawing  after  his  usual  manner.  The  dying  groans  of 
Veneziano  brought  to  his  assistance  some  of  the  servants 
of  the  hospital  of  Sta.  Maria  Nuova.  They  gave  the  alarm, 
and  among  those  who  came  running  to  the  scene  was  Cas- 
tagno.  Seeing  Domenico  breathing  his  last,  counterfeiting 
intense  horror  and  surprise,  he  threw  himself  on  the  ground 
beside  him,  and  taking  him  in  his  arms  dolorously  cried 
out  “Oh!  my  brother ! Alas!  my  brother!”  and  refused 
to  be  comforted,  professing  his  desire  to  die  with  him.  All 
which  treachery  he  revealed  long  after  upon  his  death-bed. 

If  ever  the  dark  soul  of  a sinner  gave  its  hue  to  art, 
it  was  by  this  villain.  With  considerable  skill  in  design, 
strength  of  execution,  fine  finish,  and  general  knowledge 
of  his  profession,  there  is  a moral  atmosphere  about  his 
painting,  in  general,  that  is  absolutely  repellent. 

His  dark,  brown  tones,  sparse  but  emphatic  use  of  gory 
red,  dusky  flesh  tints,  warmly  colored  draperies,  and  fre- 
quent choice  of  ascetic  topics,  indicate  passion,  melancholy, 
and  a disturbed  moral  condition.  It  is  true  his  best  thing’s 
have  perished.  But  those  remaining,  however  clever  after 
his  manner,  are  uniformly  disagreeable.  When  but  a boy 
he  was  wont  to  reply  to  criticism  that  vexed  him  with 
violent  language  and  even  blows.  It  enraged  him  to  see 


ANDREW  THE  GIBBETED. 


220 

another  preferred.  He  was  powerfully  made,  and  capable 
of  profound  dissimulation.  Life  always  turned  its  dark 
side  upon  him.  Nature  wore  a pall  — her  worst  and  gloom- 
iest were  ever  uppermost.  His  portraits  display  the  lurk- 
ing evil  of  their  sitters.  Not  one  is  more  sinister  than  his 
own.  Vasari  insists  that  the  one  which  he  took  of  himself, 
now  lost,  looked  like  Judas  Iscariot.  Yet  he  affects  re- 
ligious subjects,  but  they  are  of  penance  and  suffering. 
Expiation  is  his  creed.  His  home,  a gloomy,  howling 

wilderness.  The  remorse  and  evil  that  infested  his  own 
soul  he  infuses  into  his  St.  Jeromes  ; despairing,  attenu- 
ated, self-torturing,  wild  beings,  undergoing  physical  pri- 
vations, and  gazing  in  utter  wretchedness  upon  crucifixes, 
which  look  down  reproachfully  upon  them.  In  all  his 
creations  of  this  character,  however  forcible  the  delinea- 
tion of  bodily  suffering,  it  is  the  greater  distress  of  soul 
that  strikes  the  beholder  and  ranks  him  prominent  among 
the  ascetic  artists.  His  peculiar  temperament  was  fully 
appreciated  in  his  own  time.  For  in  1478  the  magistrates 
of  Florence  commissioned  him  to  paint  all  those  who 
had  taken  part  in  the  Pazzi  plot,  as  traitors  hung  by 
their  feet  in  the  most  distorted  attitudes.  This  he  did 
so  satisfactorily  to  their  revengeful  spirit  as  to  secure  to 
himself  ever  after  the  sobriquet  of  “ Andrea  degT  Im- 
piccati,”  — Andrew  the  Gibbeted,  — which  ominous  nick- 
name, considering  his  crime,  although  undetected,  must 
have  haunted  his  guilty  footsteps  like  the  dark  shadow 
of  an  approaching  Fate. 

We  cheerfully  take  leave  of  him  to  go  to  a group  that 
at  once  welcomes  us  into  the  joys  of  the  believer  ; artists 
whose  attributes  were  peace,  faith,  and  love.  It  may  seem 
at  first  thought  inappropriate  to  rank  them  under  the 
generic  head  of  individualism,  particularly  if  contrasted 


ECSTASY  IN  ART. 


221 


with  the  stronger  personality,  decided  naturalism,  and 
wider  eclecticism  of  the  main  stream  of  the  new  develop- 
ment in  painting.  But  although  their  song  was  sweeter, 
their  types  more  ideal,  and  their  topics  deeper  interwoven 
with  the  supernatural,  yet  not  less  than  the  others  did  they 
reveal  themselves  in  a positiveness  of  character,  specific 
inasmuch  as  it  was  opposed  to  the  realism  of  their  great 
rivals,  and  tuned  to  the  loftiest  spiritual  elements  of  our 
being.  Few  only  are  gifted  with  the  conditions  of  soul 
capable  of  realizing  on  earth  the  scenes  of  heaven.  But 
to  some  is  vouchsafed  through  prayer  and  meditation  a 
divine  illumination.  To  their  inner  sight  is  disclosed, 
invisible  to  common  eyes,  u the  horses  of  fire  and  the 
chariots  of  fire  ” — the  “ heavens  are  opened”  unto  them 
and  they  see  “ His  glory.” 

It  is  not  without  a certain  hesitation  and  fear  of  miscon- 
ception that  one  approaches  those  who  stand  thus  directly 
in  the  presence  of  the  Highest.  Weak  in  all  the  world 
holds  as  strong,  poor  in  its  riches,  covetous  of  none  of  its 
honors,  ambitious  of  its  uses  only  for  good,  self-interest 
and  sense  burned  out  of  the  heart  by  the  power  of  holi- 
ness that  descends  from  above  as  a dove,  rapt,  mystic,  and 
forereaching  into  eternal  life,  knowing,  through  a surety 
and  signs  that  come  not  of  reason  and  are  not  amenable  to 
the  known  laws  of  matter,  that  the  divine  wisdom  “ works 
in  them  mightily  both  to  will  and  to  do ; ” upheld  amid  vi- 
cissitudes and  trials  by  an  unquenchable  religious  instinct ; 
loftier  in  their  humility,  stronger  in  their  weakness,  more 
potent  on  their  thrones  of  grace  than  monarchs  in  their 
pride  of  state  ; working  miracles  of  persuasion  on  stub- 
born, selfish  minds,  leading  them  captive  by  the  intensity 
of  their  convictions  and  the  beauty  of  their  spiritual  vis- 
ions ; all  their  energies  directed  to  the  one  great  end  of 


ECSTASY  IN  ART. 


QQQ 

God’s  desire,  the  salvation  of  human  souls,  with  a unity 
of  power  and  a concentration  of  will  that  no  temptation 
can  turn  aside  ; transcending  in  virtue  of  their  election  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  every  obstacle  of  temporal  circumstance ; 
content  so  that  present  sacrifice  shall  work  out  for  them- 
selves and  others  exceeding  great  joy  hereafter  ; counting 
stripes  as  gain  and  martyrdom  as  the  Crown  of  success  ; 
— we  repeat,  that  it  is  not  with  common  feeling  and  cold 
criticism  we  dare  deal  with  souls  like  these. 

Yet,  without  a clue  to  the  mystery  of  their  existence 
how  can  we  understand  them  \ The  ordinary  processes 
of  ratiocination  do  not  serve.  We  must  throw  ourselves 
unreservedly  into  the  guiding  feeling  of  their  lives.  Not 
otherwise  will  the  wisdom  of  science  or  the  subtlety  of  logic 
disclose  the  secret.  Spiritual  exaltation,  of  this  mighty 
force,  has  laws  of  its  own,  past  finding  out  to  the  mass, 
but  none  the  less  cogent  for  their  obtuseness.  St.  Paul 
felt,  but  could  not  convey  by  words,  their  truth.  St. 
Fi  ’ancis  of  Assisi  and  other  mystics  of  this  stamp  held 
constant  intercourse  with  that  “unrealized  world”  which 
is  near  to  us  all,  surrounding  those  who  feel  it,  accord- 
ing to  the  constitution  of  their  souls,  with  either  disquiet 
or  repose.  Call,  if  we  will,  the  religious  enthusiasm  born 
thence  fanaticism,  yet  it  is  no  less  a dominion,  for  good  or 
evil,  before  which  the  world,  true  to  its  underlying,  undy- 
ing instincts,  bows  in  fear  or  love.  Setting  aside,  to  those 
who  insist,  as  blasphemous  insanities,  the  miracles  ascribed 
by  monkish  biographers  to  the  canonized  favorites  of  the 
Roman  Church,  there  still  remain  to  be  accounted  for, 
influence  and  deeds  which  have  become  historical ; whose 
effects  not  only  largely  solaced  human  misery,  but  changed 
the  current  of  human  affairs,  and  still  partially  control 
them.  Let  sceptics  in  the  power  of  the  supernatural  ele- 


ST.  CATHERINE. 


223 


ment  to  move  and  guide  men  explain  how  came  the  low- 
born,  illiterate  Catherine  of  Siena,  without  personal  charms, 
prostrated  by  disease,  backed  by  no  gifts  of  any  nature 
prized  by  the  world,  yet  by  sharply-toned,  keen  truths  and 
exhortations  in  the  ears  of  popes  and  princes,  unpalatable 
at  all  times  and  ever  dangerous  to  the  utterer,  — how  came 
she  to  restore  to  Rome  from  Avignon  the  chair  of  St. 
Peter,  when  policy,  interest,  and  right  had  each  failed  in 
turn  to  move  Gregorv  XI. ; to  give  peace  to  rival  cities, 
which  trained  ambassadors  had  given  up  in  despair  ; and 
to  acquire  an  authority  over  rough,  sensual,  and  wily 
natures  for  their  welfare,  which  borders  on  the  marvellous, 
unless  it  was  by  that  inspiration,  deep-seated  in  the  ever- 
lasting elements  of  humanity,  which  when  quickened  by 
divine  grace,  strong  in  instinctive  faith  and  earnest  in  elo- 
quence, no  matter  how  lowly  the  source,  be  it  the  man  of 
sorrow  or  the  bed-ridden  woman,  triumphs  over  all  inferior 
motives  and  solves  the  profoundest  doubts.* 

* While  deeply  impressed  with  the  spiritually  heroic  aspect  of  the  characters 
of  these  and  other  enthusiasts,  born  of  the  Roman  creed  and  exalted  at  their 
deaths,  by  the  power  they  so  diligently  served  when  living,  into  saints,  we  are 
not  unmindful  of  their  weaknesses,  boi  dering  at  times  upon  criminality  or  insan- 
ity. Indeed,  whenever  reason  is  systematically  abased  by  the  force  of  religious 
feeling,  extremes  of  either  quality  must  result.  Therefore  while  we  must  rev- 
erence the  good  that  had  its  origin  in  their  religious  exaltation,  and  admit  its 
beneficence  to  the  world  at  large,  there  is  no  need  of  surprise  or  incredulity  in 
regard  to  facts  which  if  viewed  solely  by  themselves  would  justify  the  public 
in  considering  such  exceptional  beings  as  moral  nuisances.  St.  Catherine  in 
her  zeal  to  relieve  poverty  gave  away  the  property  of  others,  and  even  proposed 
to  denude  herself  utterly  to  clothe  vagrant  paupers.  Personal  cleanliness  she 
considered  a sin  of  vanity,  and  wept  and  prayed  and  did  penance  because  her 
sister  had  once  persuaded  her  to  comb  her  hair.  St.  Francis  stole  to  appease 
his  unenlightened  instincts  of  charity.  His  father,  who  was  a sufferer  in  his 
merchandise,  locked  him  up  and  flogged  him  severely,  which  suffering  no  doubt 
his  misguided  conscience  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  great  spiritual  gain.  His 
own  townsmen  for  a while  thought  him  a madman,  and  hooted  and  pelted  him 
as  one.  He  actually  stript  himself  naked  to  clothe  the  poor.  Once,  because  he 
had  eaten  of  a chicken  he  had  himself  soundly  flogged  as  a vile  glutton. 
Among  other  insanities,  he  built  a stable  to  resemble  that  in  which  Christ  was 


22  I FORCE  AND  WEAKNESS  OF  ECSTASY  IN  ART. 


The  artists  whom  we  are  now  coming  to  not  merely 
chose  their  themes  chiefly  from  such  sources,  but  partook 
themselves,  more  or  less,  of  their  character.  But  this  ex- 
ceptional condition  of  soul  is  not  without  its  penalties  and 
drawbacks.  The  mind  is  narrowed  to  a particular  focus. 
In  its  eager  pursuit  of  immortal  things  through  expanded 
faith,  it  contracts  its  judgment,  stultifies  reason,  and  weak- 
ens its  general  energies  and  sympathies  by  overmuch  concen- 
tration upon  special  aims.  Home  and  hopes  being  removed 
above  the  plane  of  material  existence,  this  life  is  viewed  as 
an  accident,  a privation,  a penance  — sometimes  assuming 
with  nobler  minds  the  elevation  of  a mission  — from  which 
there  is  abundant  joy  in  quickly  escaping,  and  from  whose 
temptations  and  active  duties  contemplation  and  conventual 
imprisonment  are  the  best  screens.  Consequently,  while 
we  find  in  artists  of  this  quality  a piercing  insight  and  keen 
sensibility  in  relation  to  spiritual  belongings,  often  revealing 
their  visions  in  forms,  colors,  and  creations  that  seem  bor- 
rowed directly  from  heaven  itself,  there  is  a corresponding 
incapacity  of  expressing  the  coarser  conditions  of  earth-life 
and  of  letting  themselves  down  to  our  more  sensuous  stand- 
ard of  feeling.  On  this  account  their  appreciative  audience 
is  smaller  ; exacting  for  full  delight  a corresponding  belief 


born,  with  the  ox,  ass,  and  fodder,  among  which  he  lay,  “ bleating  like  a sheep, 
pronouncing  the  word  Bethlehem,  and  licking  his  bps  from  very  sweetness 
every  time  he  uttered  the  name  of  Jesus.”  See  Fra  Dolcini  and  his  Times  by  L. 
Mariotti  (Gallenga)  p.  4G.  The  monks  of  St.  Anthony  were  cunning  enough  to 
have  their  pigs  considered  as  sacred  “ taboo  ,”  according  to  a like  priestly  custom 
among  the  pagans  of  Polynesia  — which  obtained  for  them  the  privilege  of  feed- 
ing everywhere  at  the  expense  of  the  public,  with  the  penalties  of  sacrilege 
hanging  over  those  who  should  molest  them.  Now  it  is  evident  that  if  such 
follies  were  the  ordinary  current  of  life  of  these  saints  and  not  the  exceptional 
points  of  their  characters,  they  would  have  no  more  been  venerated  than  ordi- 
nary fools.  But  as  they  did  largely  influence  human  affairs,  without  the  ordi- 
nary bases  of  position,  knowledge,  or  wealth,  we  are  reduced  to  account  for  it 
as  in  the  text. 


LIPPO  DALMASIO. 


225 


in  the  character  of  the  future  life,  and  the  admission  that 
even  in  the  present,  to  the  pure  and  humble,  a partial  rev- 
elation is  sometimes  vouchsafed  of  its  bliss. 

Prominent  among  the  ecstatic  visionists,  though  some- 
what out  of  our  locality,  Bologna  having  been  his  residence, 
and  in  date  and  style  of  the  Giottesque  period,  was  Lippo 
Dalmasio,  whose  known  works  range  from  1376  to  1410, 
soon  after  which  period  he  died.  With  the  exception  of 
stories  from  the  life  of  the  prophet  Elijah,  painted  on  the 
walls  of  a chapel,  by  the  orders  of  his  superiors,  he  having 
joined  the  Carmelites,  his  uniform  theme  was  the  Virgin, 
on  whose  features  he  bestowed  a thrilling  sweetness.  So 
impressive  was  this  upon  the  imagination  of  Guido  Reni 
that  he  used  to  contemplate  these  effigies  in  a species  of 
ecstasy,  affirming  that  they  were  the  product  of  more  than 
mortal  skill,  and  adding  what  is  now  equally  apparent,  that 
no  artist  of  his  time  had  ever  been  able  to  attain  to  their 
unearthly  purity  and  holiness  of  expression.  This  opinion 
was  shared  by  several  of  the  popes,  one  of  whom,  Clement 
VIII.,  “declared  that  he  had  never  seen  images  more  de- 
vout or  that  touched  his  heart  nearer.”  * But  this  marvel- 
lous success  in  rendering  the  highest  idealism  of  the  Ma- 
donna was  grafted  on  his  limited  technical  skill  by  his  ex- 
traordinary, mystical  devotion  towards  her.  For  he  never 
painted  the  “ Mother  of  God  ” without  previous  ecstatic 
communion  with  her  image,  as  it  appeared  to  his  prayer 
illumined  imagination,  “fasting  the  previous  evening,  and 
receiving  absolution  and  the  bread  of  angels  ” (the  Eu- 
charist) “ the  morning  after  ; ” absolutely  refusing  to  soil 
his  hands  with  pecuniary  gain,  painting  solely  for  religious 
edification,  and  giving  away  his  pictures  to  those  who  accept- 
ed them  in  the  same  holy  spirit  in  which  he  did  them. 

* Mai vasia,  Felsina  Pittrice,  vol.  i.  p.  33. 


15 


226 


SANO  DI  PIETRO. 


Coming  down  to  a somewhat  later  period,  with  styles 
more  in  accordance  with  the  improved  design  and  aesthetic 
taste  of  their  day,  we  come  to  the  two  most  distinguished 
of  this  class  of  inspired  artists,  Fra  Angelico,  of  Fiesole 
(1387-1455),  and  Sano  di  Pietro,  of  Siena  (1406- 
1481).  Of  the  private  life  of  the  latter  nothing  is  recorded 
beyond  the  bare  facts  of  his  poverty,  humility,  conscientious- 
ness, piety,  and  entire  devotion  to  his  art,  which  with  him 
was  synonymous  with  religion.  His  paintings  are  less 
numerous  than  those  of  the  former,  and  indeed  out  of  Siena 
they  are  comparatively  unknown.  Between  the  two  artists 
there  is  so  much  sympathy  that  Sano  has  been  called  the 
Fra  Angelico  of  the  Sienese  school.  He  is,  however,  more 
sensuous  in  coloring.  Indeed  his  finest  pieces  remind  one 
of  a beautifully  arranged  bouquet.  Beside  the  charm  of 
their  tints,  they  are  pervaded  with  an  aroma  of  holiness,  ex- 
quisite touches  of  feeling,  and  profound  sentiment.  The 
“ Coronation  of  the  Virgin  ” is  his  favorite  subject.*  But  he 
delights  also  in  Madonnas  in  Glory,  and  infant  Christs,  sur- 
rounded by  the  hosts  of  heaven,  and  sanctified  men  and 
women,  crowned  with  bright  garlands  and  uttering  hosannas. 
The  bliss  and  not  the  pangs  of  redemption  is  his  chief  inspi- 
ration. Yet  an  indefinable  sadness  lingers  on  the  counte- 
nances of  most  of  his  figures,  especially  in  their  dark,  lus- 
trous, full,  round  eyes,  as  if  their  joy  was  tempered  with  pity 
for  those  who  had  not  attained  to  their  election,  and  was  still 
burdened  with  responsibilities  for  sinning  brethren.  Fra  An- 
gelico invariably  bestowed  upon  his  personages  delicate,  soft 
blue,  or  mild  gray  orbs ; so  that  by  this  distinction  alone  their 
works  may  always  be  discriminated.  The  folds  of  Sano’s 
drapery  are  more  broad,  graceful,  and  sweeping.  Angeli- 
co’s incline  to  the  narrow  and  tubular.  Tenderness,  deli- 


* PI.  G,  fig.  20. 


4 


S fang /it  dts. 


SANG  BI  PIETRO. 


cacy,  beauty,  pure  coloring,  in  simple  masses  without 
attempts  at  “ morbidezza”  but  in  harmony  with  the  senti- 
ment, ethereal  lightness,  and  wonderful  refinement,  particu- 
larly in  his  women  and  angels,  no  attempt  at  portraiture, 
but  characteristic,  ideal  expression,  a direct  transfer  of 
mental  images  to  his  panel  under  the  fervor  of  religious 
incitement,  repeating  himself  constantly  in  the  same  poeti- 
cal vein,  a limited  range  of  topics,  a certain  timidity  or 
feebleness  of  design,  especially  if  force  or  action  be  at- 
tempted, no  variety  of  invention,  but  infinite  grace  and 
purity  of  motive  and  perfect  sanctity  throughout,  in  which 
even  his  animals  and  landscape  participate,  both  of  these 
somewhat  improved  upon  the  style  of  the  Giotteschi,  yet  re- 
taining1 much  of  their  characteristics:  such  are  the  leading: 
features  of  Sano’s  painting.  In  everything  we  trace  an 
earnest,  painstaking,  contemplative,  serene,  and  pious  mind, 
shrinking  from  the  roughnesses  of  outer  life,  and  creating 
to  itself  a heaven  of  spiritual  repose. 

A picture  which  perfectly  represents  his  best  qualities 
is  the  “ Story  of  the  Magi,”  once  a gradino  to  a large  altar- 
piece.*  Sano,  like  Fra  Angelico,  was  a miniaturist.  Con- 
sequently his  smaller  figures  are  his  best.  The  painting 
in  question  is  executed  with  the  utmost  finish,  in  the  best 
style  of  tempera,  and  the  subject  naively  rendered  in  a 
panoramic  manner,  the  different  phases  of  the  history  being 
brought,  by  literal  repetition  of  the  figures,  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  a child’s  narration,  directly  before  the  spectator. 
The  landscape  is  made  up  of  broad,  waving  lines  of  hills, 
symmetrically  grouped  in  rude  perspective,  crowned  by 
distant  castles  and  walled  towns,  and  dotted  sparsely  with 
conventional  trees  and  fruit-bearing  shrubs.  On  the  left, 
the  dark,  blue  horizon  indicates  a clear,  calm  night.  The 


* PL  G,  fig.  21,  a group  of. 


228 


SANO  DI  PIETRO. 


three  kings,  picturesquely  grouped,  clad  in  costly  robes 
delicately  embroidered  in  gold,  gaze  intently  at  the  miracu- 
lous star,  which  has  just  appeared  to  guide  them  to  the  holy 
babe.  A little  more  to  the  right,  the  day  growing  apace, 
we  behold  them  mounted  on  richly  caparisoned  horses,  fol- 
lowing a stony  road,  which  winds  among  the  hills  that 
partly  hide  them  from  the  view,  and  leads  to  Bethlehem. 
Camels  carry  their  baggage,  and  a man  with  hounds  in 
leash  goes  with  them,  but  unlike  Gentile  da  Fabriano  and 
the  sensuous  purists,  Sano  is  chary  of  accessories  that  have 
not  a direct  reference  to  the  story.  He  concentrates  the 
attention  solely  upon  its  proper  incidents,  as  simply  given 
as  can  be. 

Having  found  the  manger,  from  the  star  resting  above 
it,  the  Magi  dismount,  and  giving  their  horses  in  charge 
to  their  attendants,  approach  Mary  and  the  lowly  babe,  to 
do  them  reverence.  Tradition  calls  the  eldest  of  the  three 
kings  Caspar  of  Tarsus,  an  old  man  with  a venerable 
beard,  whose  gift  is  gold;  the  second,  middle-aged,  is  Mel- 
chior of  Arabia,  who  brings  frankincense;  the  third,  youth- 
ful and  handsome,  usually  represented  as  a negro,  is  from 
Nubia,  and  he  fetches  myrrh.  This  group  is  beautifully 
and  feelingly  conceived ; attractive  by  its  harmony  of 
bright,  clear,  simple  colors,  and  winning  from  its  earnest 
devotion  and  natural  grace  of  sentiment,  the  very  brutes 
so  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  scene  that  the  expression  of 
their  features  is  a reflection  of  the  human  countenances 
about  them.  Fatigue,  hunger,  animal  instinct  of  every 
kind,  are  absorbed  in  miraculous  homage  to  the  infant 
Deity.  Mary  presents  Jesus  to  the  kneeling  kings.  Sano 
makes  her  sitting  upon  the  saddle  of  the  ass  on  which  she 
journeys,  a touching  suggestion  of  her  poverty,  the  rack 
with  tne  untouched  food  of  the  beasts  on  one  side,  and  Jo- 


SANO  DI  PIETRO. 


£29 


seph  standing  behind,  in  prayerful  rapture,  contemplating 
the  divine  mystery. 

On  the  other  side  is  the  full  light  of  the  Syrian  day. 
The  cortege,  having  fulfilled  its  pilgrimage,  is  now  wind- 
ing its  way  homeward  over  the  hills.  Note  the  intense, 
thoughtful  emotion,  the  mingled  wonder  and  worship,  that 
light  up  the  faces  of  the  recent  visitors  of  the  holy  family. 
All  are  spell-bound,  and  with  reluctance  leave  the  spot, 
their  attendants,  and  one  of  the  horses  even,  turning  their 
heads  for  a last,  intent  look.  Deer  are  in  the  distance. 
One  lies  quietly  on  the  ground  watching  the  train  go  by, 
while  his  mate,  startled  at  the  sight  of  the  dogs,  has  got 
up  prepared  for  flight.  A lazy  camel  is  quickening  his 
pace,  urged  on  by  his  driver.  But  like  the  similar  scenes 
of  Fra  Angelico,  there  is  neither  weight  nor  force  in  the 
blows ! 

Sano’s  pictures,  in  his  own  day,  were  held  as  pictorial 
prayers.  Upon  the  frame  of  one  in  the  Sienese  Academy 
there  is  an  inscription  to  the  effect  that  Domenico  Fran- 
chesco  had  it  made  for  the  repose  of  the  souls  of  his  parents. 
It  would  be  sacrilege  upon  all  right  feeling,  therefore,  to 
bring  this  class  of  pictures  down  to  the  material  and  techni- 
cal or  even  the  sesthetical  standard  of  painting  proper.  Per- 
fection in  design,  imitation  of  nature,  and  sensuous  beauty 
were  not  their  ends  and  aims.  Did  they  realize  their  relig- 
ious intent?  Over  a large  class  of  spiritual-minded  per- 
sons they  certainly  did  ; and  even  on  ordinary  minds,  prone 
to  externals,  their  influence  was  most  salutary.  Sensual- 
ists and  sceptics  acknowledged  their  purity  and  ecstatic 
exaltation,  and  were  the  better  for  being  reminded  by  them 
of  spiritual  truth.  Even  to  this  day  they  fascinate  souls. 
And  we  read  that  hard-headed  Protestants,  awakened  by 
them  to  the  better  traits  of  Romanism,  have  gone  over  to 


^30 


FRA  ANGELICO. 


that  creed,  finding  in  their  suggestiveness  that  spiritual 
elixir  which  every  susceptible  soul  hungers  and  thirsts 
for.* 

Fra  Angelico  is  the  St.  John  of  art.  His  head  nestled 
in  Jesus’s  bosom.  All  generations  of  men  unite  in  calling 
him  “ Angel,”  — “ Beato,”  the  blessed,  an  artist  saint,  the 
highest  type  of  the  ecstatic  purists ; sanctified  in  every  de- 
sire, as  charitable  as  devout,  as  meek  as  holy,  consecrating 
his  genius  solely  to  religion,  and  faithfully  fulfilling  the 
rule  which  Vasari  applies  to  art,  u that  he  who  makes  the 
things  of  Christ  should  always  be  with  Christ.” 

The  early  circumstances  of  Giovanni,  such  was  his  Chris- 
tian name,  were  comfortable  if  not  affluent.  He  could 
have  chosen  an  agreeable  career  or  an  ambitious  one,  with 
favorable  beginnings.  But  his  quiet,  reflective  disposition 
led  him,  “ chiefly  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul,”  to  join  the 
Dominican  monks.  No  brother  more  strictly,  in  spirit 
and  letter,  fulfilled  his  vows  of  chastity,  fasting,  obedience, 
prayer,  and  self-renunciation.  “ Never  was  he  seen  in 
anger  with  the  brethren,”  says  Vasari,  and  sensibly  adds 
u which  appears  to  me  a thing  most  marvellous  and  all  hut 
incredible.”  His  admonitions  were  simple,  and  always 
softened  with  a smile.  The  particulars  of  his  early  artistic 
training  are  very  scanty,  but  he  soon  became  so  much  in 
repute  that  every  amateur  was  desirous  of  a painting  by 
him.  To  every  application  his  answer  was,  “ Obtain  the 
consent  of  the  prior  and  I will  do  all  I can  to  gratify  you.” 
The  moneys  received  were  given  to  the  convent.  He 
painted  numerous  pictures,  easel  and  fresco,  in  Florence 
and  its  vicinity,  Cortona,  Perugia,  Orvieto,  and  Home, 
never  signing  nor  dating  them,  holding  his  reputation  as 
nothing,  solicitous  only  to  be  accounted  a good  and  faith- 
* See  I rie  de  Fra  Angelico  de  Fiesole,  par  E.  Cartier.  Paris,  1857. 


FRA  ANGELICO. 


231 


ful  servant  in  the  sight  of  Heaven.  It  is  said,  he  never 
began  work  without  preparatory  supplications  to  God  and 
devout  meditation  over  his  themes,  the  composition  of 
which  once  fixed  in  his  imagination  he  refused  to  alter,  be- 
lieving the  design  to  be  inspired  by  the  divine  will.  If 
we  can  credit  Montalembert,*  he  painted  Christ  and  Mary 
only  on  his  knees,  and  his  crucifixes  amid  floods  of  tears. 
He  was  indeed  impregnated  with  the  “ Word.”  Hence 
his  mysticism  was  of  the  intensest,  highest  character,  at 
times  breaking  out  in  pictorial  strains  that  recall  the  beauty 
and  sublimity  of  Israel’s  poets.  Each  stroke  of  his  pencil 
was  guided  by  ecstatic  piety  and  a profound  insight  into 
the  theological  science  of  his  sect.  Yet  he  was  neither 
bigot  nor  fanatic.  His  truly  Christian  virtue  kept  his 
heart  clean  and  his  head  sound.  He  persistently  refused 
ecclesiastical  promotion,  because  he  considered  himself  not 
qualified  to  govern  and  unworthy  of  distinction.  In  this 
he  judged  aright,  as  he  was  formed  for  faith  and  obedience 
and  not  for  rule  and  direction.  And  by  concentrating  his 
powers  upon  painting,  under  the  dictation  of  his  spiritual 
faculties,  he  arrived  at  an  excellence  in  his  particular  vein 
as  yet  unrivalled. 

In  awarding  to  the  monk  this  lofty  position,  it  is  expe- 
dient not  to  overlook  his  defects.  They  are  such  as  are 
incidental  to  an  ascetic  temperament  and  monastic  isolation. 
But  before  touching  upon  them  let  us  fully  comprehend 
his  actual  ambition  and  special  acquirements.  Holiness 
and  orthodoxy  were  his  aspirations,  and  in  them  he-'  was 
successful.  In  each  emotion  that  imparts  bliss  to  the  be- 
liever, every  tender  joy  and  ecstatic  thrill  of  salvation,  the 
perfect  repose  of  unquestioning  faith,  the  rapture  of  glorified 
beings,  the  ineffable  light  of  the  “ great  white  throne;” 
* Du  Vandalisme,  p.  246. 


FRA  ANGELICO. 


232 


in  the  “ fine  white  linen”  that  “ is  the  righteousness  of 
saints,”  the  “ voice  of  harpers  harping  with  their  harps,” 
the  mighty  array  of  heaven’s  virgins  singing  new  songs ; 
in  the  use  of  the  “jasper  and  sardine  stone,”  the  emerald 
and  rainbow  effulgence,  crowns  of  gold,  and  wreaths  of 
fairest  flowers ; in  visions  of  those  who  have  “ gotten  the 
victory  over  the  beast”  and  have  “ the  seal  of  God  in  their 
foreheads,”  whose  melodious  hosannas  and  full-toned  hal- 
lelujahs resound  in  everlasting  chorus  through  the  vaults  of 
heaven  ; with  every  conceivable  accessory  having  spiritual 
significance,  of  modest  drapery,  fine  embroideries,  rich 
though  simple  ornament,  a multiplicity  of  eloquent  detail 
and  imaginative  creations,  Fra  Angelico  is  most  graphi- 
cally fecund.  Nor  is  he  less  remarkable  in  his  hierarchal 
symbolism  and  the  meaning  of  his  colors ; seraphic  love 
burning  in  his  bright,  ethereal  reds  and  the  wisdom  of  the 
cherubim  in  his  pure,  celestial  blues.  In  these  respects 
and  his  mysticism  generally  he  cleaves  to  Byzantine  exam- 
ples. The  graceful  naturalness  of  Simone  Martini  and  the 
more  profound  motives  of  Taddeo  Bartolo  also  had  charms 
for  him.  Whilst  in  his  draperies,  exceptional  dramatic  ac- 
tion, occasional  groupings,  and,  as  with  Sano,  progres- 
sive disuse  of  gold  backgrounds  and  other  Giottesque  tech- 
nicalities, we  perceive  the  influence  of  the  contemporary 
naturalistic  development,  individualized  by  each  in  accord- 
ance with  their  mental  tones  and  feeling.  The  superiority 
of  Fra  Angelico  over  all  kindred  artists  is  most  apparent 
in  his  Madonnas  and  angels.  They  are  more  ethereal  in 
color  and  spiritual  in  expression  than  those  of  Sano  di 
Pietro,  with  a certain  incorporeal  lightness,  as  it  were, 
which  is  beyond  description.  In  the  former,  he  realizes 
the  perfect  idea  which  St.  Thomas  expresses  of  her  peculiar 
beauty,  the  sight  of  which  purifies  the  senses  in  place  of 


FiiA  ANGELICO. 


233 


exciting  them.  Purely  ideal  images  are  apt  to  become 
vague  and  insipid.  But  both  these  artists  escape  this. 
The  latter,  particularly,  in  his  type  of  the  Virgin,  incarnates 
the  very  chastity  and  beauty  of  heaven.  She  is  most  lovely; 
pensive,  impressed  with  a mysterious  sense  of  her  selec- 
tion as  the  corporeal  medium  of  bringing  salvation  down 
to  man,  meekly  obedient  to  the  Son,  yet  none  the  less  the 
perfect  mother,  robed  and  adorned  as  only  Fra  Angelico 
knew  how  to  picture  the  vision  that  was  born  from  his  im- 
agination into  the  world  of  art. 

His  angels  are  correspondingly  successful  realizations. 
Young,  virginal,  celestial,  conscious  of  perfect  bliss,  inno- 
cence, knowledge,  and  power,  the  messengers  of  divine  love 
and  will  to  man,  heaven’s  courtiers  and  the  friends  of  the 
redeemed,  they  are  in  conception  equally  among  the  best 
fruits  of  his  ecstatic  moments  and  the  happiest  efforts  of  his 

The  coloring  of  Fra  Angelico  corresponds  to  his  themes. 
It  avoids  uncertain  outline,  confusion  of  tints,  and  every 
other  sign  of  sensuous  warmth  or  sensual  passion.  Of  crys- 
talline purity  and  virgin  freshness,  it  is  attractive  as  the  rain- 
bow itself.  He  diffuses  a flood  of  light  over  his  best  pictures, 
which,  as  Lord  Lindsay  justly  observes,  being  Upure  and  un- 
mixed, gold,  azure,  red,  yellow,  blue,  harmonize  and  blend 
like  a rich  burst  of  wind-music  in  a manner  inconceivable 
in  recital  — distinct  yet  soft,  as  if  the  whole  scene  was  mir- 
rored in  the  sea  of  glass  that  burns  before  the  throne.” 

The  hues  of  the  Tuscan  purists  resemble  those  of  jew- 
els, clear,  sparkling,  and  distinctive.*  To  get  greater  depth 

* It  is  well  to  note  some  of  the  restricted  uses  of  color  as  symbols  among 
the  devotional  painters,  by  which  their  taste  was  more  or  less  fettered,  and 
which  in  estimating  their  works  in  either  an  aesthetic  or  emblematic  sense 
should  not  he  overlooked. 

White  was  the  emblem  of  religious  purity,  joy,  or  life.  The  Saviour  usu- 


FRA  ANGELICO. 


234 

and  richer  gradation,  the  Venetians  and  those  who  prac- 
tised their  principles  of  coloring  painted  as  if  with  fused 
gems.  But  what  they  gained  in  mellow  warmth,  they  lost 
in  purity.  Their  strength  of  color  is  more  artificial,  and 
inclines  to  the  sensual,  though  they  make  it  express  what- 
ever they  like,  depending  for  desired  effects  more  upon  its 
language  than  that  of  design.  They  mostly  drew  in  color. 
The  Tuscans  loved  the  full  brightness  of  day,  with  its  clear 
speech  and  form-betraying  power.  But  the  Venetians  veiled 
their  beauties  in  a magic  light,  as  if  seen  through  some 
artificial  medium  or  only  in  the  golden  and  purple  tints  of  a 
thinly-clouded  setting  sun.  The  key  of  the  one  was  na- 
ture’s simplest  and  serenest  lights ; that  of  the  other,  her 
most  sensuous  and  occasional  effects,  pitched  on  a scale 
many  degrees  below  the  natural  and  hence  full  of  power 
from  its  reserved  strength  and  the  extraordinary  skill  Re- 
ally wears  white  after  his  Resurrection.  On  the  judge  it  signifies  integrity,  on 
the  rich  humility,  and  on  woman  chastity.  The  Virgin  wears  white  only  in 
the  Assumption.  Her  proper  dress  is  a blue  mantle  with  a star  in  front,  long 
sleeves,  red  tunic,  and  head  veiled. 

Red  or  ruby  signified  fire,  divine  love,  the  creative  power,  and  royalty. 

White  and  red  roses,  as  worn  by  Saints  Cecilia  and  Dorothea,  imply  love 
and  innocence  or  love  and  wisdom. 

In  a bad  sense,  red  implied  blood,  war,  hatred,  and  punishment.  Red  and 
black  were  the  livery  of  hell  and  the  devil,  as  we  see  now  in  our  theatricals 
and  masquerades. 

Blue  or  the  sapphire  is  heaven,  truth,  and  fidelity.  St.  John  the  Evangelist 
wears  a blue  tunic  and  red  mantle. 

Yellow  or  gold  was  the  symbol  of  the  sun;  goodness  of  God;  marriage, 
faith,  or  fruitfulness.  St.  Peter  wears  a yellow  mantle  over  a blue  tunic.  In  a 
bad  sense,  it  means  inconstancy,  jealousy,  or  deceit.  A dirty  yellow  is  the  liv- 
ery of  Judas. 

Green-emerald  signifies  hope,  victory.  Violet-amethyst,  love,  truth,  passion, 
and  suffering.  Hence  it  was  worn  by  martyrs.  Mary  Magdalen,  the  patron 
saint,  wears  a red  robe  ; as  a penitent,  violet  and  blue  ; red  and  green  with  her 
signifies  love  and  hope.  The  Virgin  wears  violet  after  the  Crucifixion,  and 
sometimes  the  Saviour  after  the  Resurrection. 

Gray  is  the  hue  of  mourning,  humility,  and  innocence  accused.  Black  re- 
fers to  darkness,  mourning,  wretchedness.  White  and  black  together,  humility 
and  purity  of  life.  They  are  the  colors  of  the  Dominicans  and  Carmelites. 


FRA  ANGELICO. 


235 


quired  in  creating  an  atmosphere  all  its  own.  Paul  Vero- 
nese, however,  loved  intense,  sparkling  daylight.  In  its 
management,  owing  to  the  perfected  technical  knowledge 
of  his  day,  he  excels  every  one,  and  consummates  by  sci- 
ence what  the  purists  suggested  by  feeling. # 

* Fully  to  appreciate  the  decadence  in  color  accompanying  depraved  moral 
sentiments  as  manifested  in  painting,  and  the  absolute  connection  that  exists 
between  purity  of  life  and  beauty  of  expression  in  this  respect,  one  must  at- 
tentively compare  the  styles  respectively  of  the  purists  and  sensualists,  discrim- 
inating the  exact  influence  on  either  of  scientific  knowledge  and  intellectual 
guidance.  The  tones  Christian  sentiment  delights  in  we  have  already  seen. 
Turn  now  to  the  lustful  suggestions,  the  sombre,  feeble,  or  tobacco-juice 
tints,  the  dull  browns,  the  dry  reds,  and  the  confused  and  joyless  hues,  which 
obtain  with  so  few  exceptions  among  the  artists  in  the  ratio  of  their  recession 
from  noble  sentiment  and  spiritual  feeling,  and  we  must  fain  acknowledge 
that,  setting  aside  skill  of  design  which  is  purely  an  intellectual  acquirement, 
there  is  a similar  intimate  relation  between  the  use  of  color  and  moral  instincts, 
as  between  the  choice  of  subjects  and  character  of  design.  Trace  the  lives  of 
the  most  prominent  examples  and  we  shall  find  in  them  full  warrant  for  the 
repulsive  aspect  of  their  paintings.  In  the  seventeenth  century,  particularly 
with  the  Neapolitans,  whose  school  was  the  climax  of  this  quality  in  Italian 
art,  assassinations,  treacheries,  and  brutalities  were  common.  They  were  the' 
bandits  of  painting,  and  their  colors,  subjects,  and  general  treatment  are 
gloomy  and  ruffian-like,  dwelling  with  delighted  emphasis  upon  the  physically 
painful  or  horrible.  Michel  Angelo  Caravaggio  killed  one  of  his  friends  in  a 
scandalous  quarrel.  He  afterwards  fought  and  wounded  a nobleman  at  Malta, 
fled  to  Naples,  and  there  again  fighting  with  some  military  men,  was  wounded 
and  obliged  to  fly  towards  Rome,  dying  on  his  way  of  a brain  fever  in  his 
fortieth  year.  With  Ribera,  Corenzio,  and  Caracciola,  blood  was  as  water. 
Their  violence,  accompanied  by  murder,  towards  Guido,  Domenichino,  and  An- 
nibale Carracci,  is  described  in  Lady  Morgan’s  Life  of  Salvator  Rosa,  p.  58. 
At  this  epoch  the  French,  Flemish,  and  Dutch  artists  were  accustomed  to  as- 
semble in  Rome,  whenever  money  was  plenty  with  them,  and  a countryman 
dad  newly  arrived,  to  a scene  of  debauchery  which  often  lasted  twenty-four 
hours,  the  wine  being  brought  to  their  table  in  hogsheads.  This  coarse  brawl 
was  termed  the  “ baptism.”  Italians,  in  whose  memories  were  rife  the  intel- 
lectual repasts  of  the  times  of  Raphael,  when  each  of  the  members  of  a festive 
society  was  obliged  to  bring  to  the  feast  an  artistically  concocted  dish  of  his  own, 
fancifully,  architecturally,  or  grotesquely  got  up,  and  fined  if  it  so  happened 
that  it  did  not  prove  both  original  and  unique,  were  loud  in  their  denunciations 
of  the  vulgarity  and  low  choice  of  subjects  of  their  northern  rivals,  and  were 
accustomed  to  say  of  them  “ they  may  amuse  the  people,  but  they  can  never 
touch  souls  elevated  by  one  noble  idea.”  Their  own  immorality  was  of  a 
more  refined  character,  and  chiefly  in  the  way  of  gallantry.  Both  parties, 
in  their  deportment  and  art,  present  a strikingly  unfavorable  contrast  to 


286 


FRA  ANGELICO. 


Fra  Angelico’s  pictures  are  of  unequal  merit.  His  best, 
among  which  are  the  “ Last  Judgment,”  in  the  Florentine 
Academy,  and  the  Reliquaries  in  the  Sacristy  of  Sta.  Maria 
Novella,  seem  as  if  done  by  angels.  Others  are  feeble,  ill 
drawn,  and  harshly  tinted,  especially  some  of  the  series  of 
the  “Life  of  Christ;  ” faults,  however,  which  some  critics  are 
disposed  to  attribute  to  his  brother  Benedetto.  His  Satan 
is  the  impersonification  of  Dante’s,  and  his  devils  are  as 
ugly  as  need  be.  But  the  types  of  such  creations  he  had 
all  about  him  from  the  pencils  of  other  artists,  while  his  ce- 
lestial images  were  wholly  the  reflection  of  his  own  heaven- 
piercing vision.  His  power  of  damnation  is  very  weak ; 
horror  is  more  in  looks  than  action.  As  his  loving  nature 
would  not  permit  him  to  thoroughly  “ damn  ” any  one,  al- 
though his  creed  necessitated  it,  so  there  is  not,  as  with  other 
depictors  of  this  terrible  spectacle,  any  individuality  of  suf- 
fering. Popes,  nuns,  and  monks  are  sent  to  hell  by  him  as 
types  of  classes  of  sinners.  He  loathed  animal  expression 
in  any  shape,  and  he  was  always  as  unsuccessful  in  render- 
ing it  as  he  was  happy  in  imparting  to  the  saved  and  their 
guardian  angels  the  joyful  emotions  which  may  be  sup- 
posed to  light  up  the  countenances  of  those  who  have  won 
Paradise.  Thus  intent  upon  the  features,  he  frequently 
neglects  extremities,  which  are  treated  at  times  with  an 
almost  Byzantine  stiffness.  In  attitudes  denoting  firm  ac- 
tion he  was  not  more  successful.  Being  a miniaturist,  his 

their  brethren  generally  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  Even 
where  piety  was  the  prevailing  feeling,  as  in  Carlo  Dolce,  who  dedicated  his 
pencil  to  the  Virgin,  but  whose  image  he  found  in  Maria  Madelina  Baldinucci, 
painting  only  sacred  subjects,  it  degenerated  into  morbid  asceticism.  His 
pictures  were  vapid,  flashy,  or  lugubriously  sentimental,  for  he  was  the 
victim  of  a pertinacious  melancholy.  At  his  wedding,  being  missed,  he  was 
found  in  a chapel  prostrate  before  a crucifix.  Those  who,  despising  the  ear- 
lier, find  satisfaction  solely  in  this  later  art,  would  do  well  to  ask  themselves 
why. 


FRA  ANGELICO. 


287 


taste  and  practice  are  chiefly  and  most  happily  directed  to 
small  figures.  He  is  a progressive  artist,  and  his  works 
evince  careful  study  as  well  as  profound  feeling ; at  times, 
dramatic  conception  and  beautiful  invention  ; so  that,  had 
his  inspiration  been  derived  from  the  active  world  instead  of 
confined  within  a cloister,  there  is  reason  to  believe  he  might 
have  won  great  eminence,  even  in  the  school  of  Masaccio. 
Imitating  the  practice  of  the  naturalists,  he  introduced  into 
his  later  compositions,  such  as  the  fresco  of  the  “ Life  of 
Christ”  in  the  Vatican,  portraits  of  eminent  public  men  of 
the  time.  Nicholas  V.,  the  Emperor  Frederic,  and  Fer- 
dinand of  Aragon  appear  in  the  society  of  the  holy  men 
of  old.  In  his  own  spiritual  field  he  attains  wonderful 
effects  of  light  and  color,  especially  in  his  series  of  frescoes 
in  the  cells  of  the  convent  of  San  Marco,  evincing  as  they 
do  a most  subtle  discrimination  in  the  adaptation  of  his 
vehicles  to  the  proprieties  of  his  subjects,  which  effects, 
whether  they  were  felt  out  or  were  the  result  of  scientific 
discovery  no  one  can  now  decide,  though  certain  it  is  he 
has  never  been  excelled  in  their  peculiar  management.  To 
find  a corresponding  value  in  the  treatment  of  lights,  espe- 
cially to  his  “Coronation  of  the  Virgin  ” and  the  “Marys  at 
the  Sepulchre,”  we  must  go  forward  a century  to  the  lumi- 
nous qualities  of  the  great  Venetians,  making  due  allow- 
ance for  the  greater  brilliancy  of  oils  and  their  more  man- 
ageable qualities.  These  frescoes  are  miracles  of  artistic 
treatment.  Under  the  most  difficult  conditions  his  tints 
interblend  into  rainbow  delicacy  and  etherealness,  suffusing 
his  figures  with  the  glow  of  Paradise,  while  from  them 
emanates  a particular  effulgence,  as  if  their  souls,  bathed 
in  celestial  ether,  glowed  through  their  bodies.  Women, 
angels,  Christ,  and  the  crowned  Queen  of  heaven,  all  ac- 
cording to  their  degrees  of  glory,  the  distinction  between 


£38 


BENEDETTO. 


earthly  and  heavenly  atmosphere  being  wonderfully  man- 
aged, are  harmonized  by  the  monk’s  magic  marriage  of 
matter  and  spirit  into  a unity  of  the  highest  qualities  of 
art. 

We  cannot,  however,  agree  with  his  Italian  biographer, 
Father  Marchese,  himself  a learned  brother  of  San  Marco, 
although  sustained  by  the  weight  of  Professor  Rosini’s 
opinion,  in  declaring  Fra  Angelico’s  frescoes  in  the  Vatican, 
done  in  1 45£,  just  before  his  death,  to  he  in  his  best  man- 
ner, and  capable  of  disputing  the  palm  of  excellence  with 
the  best  works  of  the  century.  This  is  exaggeration.  He 
was  not  at  home  in  historical  composition,  because  he  never 
did  forsake  the  contemplative  for  active  life,  or  give  him- 
self unreservedly  up  to  studies  from  nature.  In  the  de- 
gree that  he  attempted  it,  he  gave  promise  of  qualities 
which,  had  he  been  so  inclined,  might  have  developed  into 
rivalry  with  those  of  the  naturalistic  masters  of  his  time. 
Perhaps  no  one  of  his  compositions  so  well  suggests  this 
latent  power  in  him  as  his  fresco  of  the  “Adoration  of  the 
Magi,”  in  San  Marco.  In  grouping  and  movement  it  is 
highly  dramatic,  in  accordance  with  the  probabilities  of  the 
scene,  and  freer  from  mysticism  than  any  other  of  his 
elaborated  compositions. 

The  artist  passed  as  quietly  on  to  the  other  life  as  he 
had  lived  in  this,  departing  from  Rome,  which  with 
Orvieto  shares  his  latest  works,  and  still  retains  his  modest 
tombstone.  Few  seek  it  in  its  secluded  nook  in  the  church 
of  Sta.  Maria  sopra  Minerva,  amid  the  overwhelming'  asso- 
ciations of  the  Caesars,  and  the  more  seductive  worldly  art 
of  the  eternal  city.  Benedetto,  his  brother,  labored  with 
him,  but  was  weak  and  mannered,  though  possessing  much 
talent  as  a miniaturist.  Among  the  comparatively  few 
whose  styles  were  formed  in  his  school,  were  Zauobi 


SASSETTA. 


239 


Strozzi,  Machiavelli,  and  Michelino,  whose  full-length  por- 
trait of  Dante  still  retains  its  place  in  the  Duomo  of  Flor- 
ence. His  principal  pupil  was  Benozzo  Gozzoli.  His 
proclivities,  however,  soon  ran  somewhat  in  another  direc- 
tion, and  he  formed  an  independent  manner,  which  will 
be  described  in  its  place. 

Among  the  Sienese  whose  style  and  feeling  partake 
more  closely  of  ecstatic  than  of  naturalistic  art  there  are 
three  painters  who  need  mention.  One  of  these  is  Fran- 
cesco Giorgio  di  Martini.  He  died  in  1 4<7  0,  and  was 
more  distinguished  as  an  architect  and  sculptor  than  as  a 
painter.  But  he  displayed  genuine  religious  feeling,  love 
of  nature,  a lavish  delight  in  architectural  ornamentation, 
and  the  scientific  artifices  of  perspective. 

Cristofano  di  Francesco,  surnamed  Sassetta,  who  flour- 
ished about  1450,  is  another.  He  was  mystical,  excellent 
in  allegory,  and  displayed  sincere  feeling  in  painting.  With 
much  refinement  of  thought  and  style,  fine  finish,  and  not 
a little  dramatic  conception,  he  claims  our  regard,  if  from 
no  other  source  than  for  the  little  picture,^  which  tradition 
considers  as  his,  of  “ St.  Anthony  in  the  Desert  tempted  of 
the  Devil.”  In  this  simple  and  naive  composition,  Satan 
has  taken  the  form  of  a modest,  demure,  and  bewitching 
damsel,  and  introduced  himself  to  the  acquaintance  of  the 
woman-fearing  hermit.  He  sees  not,  though  the  spectator 
does,  the  diabolic  wings  which  issue  from  her  back,  claw- 
looking  and  fiery.  She  folds  her  arms  serenely  over  her 
breast,  and  tries  to  overpower  his  senses  with  sexual  incite- 
ment. Mark  her  erect,  lithe,  graceful  figure,  virgin-like 
in  pose  and  drapery,  yet  tempting  by  its  betrayal  of  the 
lines  of  her  form.  Better  still  is  the  sinister  expression  of 
the  fair,  blonde  face.  Beelzebub’s  artifice  is  here  most 
* See  No.  47  of  Descriptive  Catalogue  in  the  Appendix. ' 


240 


GIOVANNI  DI  PAOLO. 


transparent,  where  he  most  wishes  to  hide  it.  St.  Antho- 
ny recoils  in  instinctive  horror,  with  a relaxation  of  mus- 
cular fibre  that  betrays  the  intensity  of  his  fright.  The 
contrasted  action  of  these  two  figures  is  a poem  in  itself. 
There  is  nothing  more  in  the  picture  except  the  desolate  hut 
of  the  anchorite,  and  a barren  landscape,  with  a background 
of  a wilderness  of  forests  and  hills,  about  which  the  atmos- 
phere seems  enchanted,  because,  as  if  with  the  instinct  of 
coming  evil,  the  very  birds  are  flying  wildly  about,  amid 
those  weird  bars  of  lurid  light  which  mark  the  horizon. 
There  is  a glamour  in  this  little  picture,  and  an  originality 
and  perfectness  of  thought,  so  far  as  the  motive  goes,  which, 
in  our  view,  marks  it  as  one  of  the  most  striking  and  inter- 
esting of  the  ascetic  compositions  of  any  epoch. 

Giovanni  di  Paolo’s  (1428-1 462 ) works  have  made  him 
much  more  widely  known.  In  his  treatment  of  light  and 
color  he  aims  at  the  key  of  Paul  Veronese.  For  his  time 
he  is  wonderfully  brilliant,  firm,  and  natural ; in  motive 
and  feeling  inclining  to  Fra  Angelico  ; damning  with  equal 
reluctance,  and  particularly  touching  in  his  individual  rec- 
ognitions among  the  crowd  of  the  saved.  These  qualities 
are  noticeable  in  his  “ Last  Judgment,”  dated  1453,  now 
in  the  Academy  at  Siena,  and  which  being  subsequent  to 
similar  compositions  of  the  “ Beato,”  may  have  been  influ- 
enced by  them.  He  introduces,  however,  some  effective 
touches  quite  his  own,  such  as  Mary  Magdalene  sorrowing 
over  the  lost  at  the  feet  of  Christ,  before  whom  the  Virgin 
kneels  in  a mournfully  hopeless  appeal  for  further  proba- 
tion of  lost  souls ; the  action  being  instinctive,  while  the 
justice  of  the  irrevocable  sentence  is  legible  on  her  features. 
The  contrast  of  the  pitying  women  with  the  stern  Judge 
is  very  beautiful ; as  is  his  Paradise,  with  its  delightsome 
flowers  and  welcoming"  angelic  host. 


* 


Tin  ■ Stan gh  e c?/s  in  c. 


Gicvannidi  Paolo,  Siena  i '2<y_ 1 't&2 


Sahvcl  of  Siena-  sty  o 


SONNET  TO  THE  VIRGIN* 


£41 


The  soft,  mystic  melodies  of  the  Sienese,  and  their  sim- 
ple, earnest,  and  tender  devotion,  tempt  one  strongly  to 
linger  amongst  them,  for  their  strains  at  once  soothe  and 
inspire.  But  other  and  greater  claims  await  us.  Let  us 
bid  adieu  to  ecstatic  art  with  a beautiful  sonnet,  embodying 
the  devout  loyalty  of  the  Sienese  chivalry  to  the  divine 
lady,  to  whom,  two  centuries  before,  in  its  peril  from  Flor- 
entine foes,  it  had  formally  gifted  the  wolf-bannered  city. 
It  was  found  inscribed  beneath  Sano  di  Pietro’s  fresco  of 
the  “ Coronation  of  the  Virgin,”  over  the  Roman  gate. 
The  translation  is  by  Lord  Lindsay,  the  original  from 
Dellavalle* 


“ Quest’  alma  gloriosa  Vergine  pura, 

Eigliuola  del  suo  figlio,  sposa  e madre, 
Perche  F Eterno  Padre 
La  trovo  umil  piu  eh’  atra  persona, 

Del  Uni  verso  qui  le  da  corona ! 

Vergine  Madre  del  Eterne  Dio, 

Dalle  chui  sante  mani  coronate 

Sieti  raccomandata 

La  devota  e fedel  citta  di.  Siena, 

Come  ’u  te  spera  : Ave  di  gratia  plena.” 


“ Gracious  and  glorious,  lo  ! the  Virgin  pure, 
Daughter,  and  Spouse,  and  Mother  of  her  Son ; 
Whom  — for  the  Eternal  Eather  found  her  meek 
And  humble  more  than  others  in  his  sight  — 

He  crowneth  here  Queen  of  the  Universe  ! 

— Virginal  Mother  of  the  Eternal  God, 

Crowned  by  the  Holiest ! oh,  entreated  be 
Eor  thy  Siena,  loyal  and  devout ! 

She  trusts  in  thee  — Mother  of  Mercy,  hail ! ” 

* L.  Sanesi,  vol.  ii.  p.  230. 


10 


CHAPTER  IX. 


The  New  Phase  of  Painting.  Causes  and  Character.  Naturalism.  The 
several  Functions  of  the  Progressive  Painters.  Sculpture  and  Architecture 
of  this  Period.  Masolino  da  Panicale,  1403-1440,  the  Forerunner.  Dello, 
the  “ Casone  ” Artist.  New  Motives,  Subjects,  and  Styles.  Paolo  Ucello, 
1396-1479,  the  Enthusiast.  Masaccio,  1402-1443,  the  Teacher.  The  Fres- 
coes of  the  Carmine.  Filippo  Lippi,  1412-1469,  the  Scapegrace.  Botticelli, 
1457-1515,  the  Improvident.  Piero  della  Francesca,  1400-1494;  Luca 
Signorelli,  1441-1524 ; Antonio,  1433-1493,  and  Pietro  Pollajuolo,  1443- 
1496  ; Verrocchio,  1432-1488,  the  Scientists.  Signorelli’s  Frescoes  at  Orvi- 
eto.  German  Tribute  to  them.  Domenico  Bartolo,  1438  ; Matteo  da  Siena, 
1470  ; Baldovinetti,  1425-1499 ; Pesello,  1380-1457 ; Pesellino,  1426-1457, 
School  Artists.  Cosimo  Bosselli,  1439-1506.  Piero  di  Cosimo,  1441-1521, 
the  Whimsical.  Triumph  of  Death.  Eccentricities  of  his  Genius.  Filippi- 
no, 1460-1505,  the  Amiable.  Innovations  and  Incongruities.  Domenico 
Ghirlandajo,  1449-1498,  the  Ambitious.  His  Greatness  and  Naturalness. 
The  Nobility  of  his  Waiting-maids  and  Angels.  His  Portraiture.  Minardi, 
his  Pupil.  San  Gimignano,  a living  Type  of  a Mediaeval  Town. 

Tiie  phase  of  painting  upon  which  we  are  now  about  to 
enter  had  its  rise  in  aroused  individualism,  was  eclectic  in 
principle,  and  based  its  choice  directly  upon  humanity  itself, 
in  distinction  from  the  preceding,  whose  chief  aim  was,  as 
we  have  seen,  spiritual  exaltation.  There  was,  however, 
much  kindred  aspiration  in  the  present.  It  gave  rise  to  a 
class  of  artists  in  greater  or  less  degree  actuated  by  similar 
motives,  giving  them  expression  by  means  of  improved 
technical  treatment,  going  to  religion  for  their  topics,  and 
to  some  extent  even  influenced  by  Byzantine  compositions. 
But  the  theological  element  and  religious  control  in  art 
was  gradually  losing  its  hold  upon  the  times.  Devotional 
paintings  continued  to  be  executed  in  great  numbers,  be- 


NATURALISM  IN  ART. 


243 


cause  they  were  considered  as  a necessity  of  religion.  But 
the  lofty  symbolism,  deep  mysticism,  and  pure  idealism,  to 
which  we  must  add  circumscribed  thought  and  taste,  that 
had  characterized  the  strictly  religious  art,  although  con- 
tinuing to  exist  in  their  best  degrees  in  the  painters  de- 
scribed in  the  preceding  chapter,  had  now  to  encounter 
antagonistic  influences  which  ultimately  overthrew  them. 

There  were  many  causes  for  this.  Long-continued  ec- 
stasy exhausts  our  feeble  powers,  because  it  demands  a 
tone  of  feeling,  an  intellectual  insight,  and  range  of  sympa- 
thies above  the  common  and  visible.  So,  excessive  alle- 
gory and  involved  symbolism  weary  the  mind  from  their 
too  exclusive  appeal  to  reason.  Being  abnormal,  the  reac- 
tion is  so  much  the  stronger.  For  twelve  centuries  art 
had  been  either  the  slave  or  agent  of  religion,  without  an 
actual,  independent  existence,  except  as  individual  genius 
gave  to  it  transiently  a broader  and  freer  significance.  But 
the  wheel  of  mind,  though  it  may  turn  slowly,  turns  surely. 
Its  revolution  brings  change,  at  first  healthful  and  full  of 
promise ; then  come  excess  and  decay,  which  prepare  the 
intellectual  soil  for  new  crops  of  ideas.  These  may  or 
may  not  be  superior  to  their  predecessors,  but  they  are  in- 
evitable. And  a succession  of  such  harvests  results  some- 
how or  other  in  Progress. 

This  has  been  particularly  true  of  art.  Sensuous  beauty 
in  the  Greek  overthrew  the  dogmatic  rigidness  of  Egyp- 
tian forms.  In  turn  that  gave  way  to  another  dogmatism ; 
that  of  Christianity,  which  developed  spiritual  types  of 
beauty.  These,  in  time,  provoked  the  reaction  which  fur- 
nishes the  groundwork  of  our  present  analysis.  But  it  is 
necessary  to  premise,  that  while  in  all  great  mental  changes 
we  can  trace  the  movement  and  detect  the  propelling  force, 
we  can  no  more  ascertain  the  exact  lines  of  demarcation, 


TITIAN  S LANDSCAPE. 


°2U 

and  prescribe  where  gradation  stops  and  variation  begins, 
than  we  can  measure  the  mountain-wave  or  weigh  the 
wind  that  urges  it  onward.  Hence  it  will  be  noticed  that 
much  of  the  passing  was  interwoven  with  the  coming  de- 
velopment, cropping  out  here  and  there,  and  merging  so 
naturally  and  gradually  into  the  newer  phase  of  painting, 
that  while  conscious  of  change  we  perceive  no  aspect  of  vio- 
lent revolution. 

The  Greeks  and  Italians,  kindred  and  mixed  races,  have 
invariably  manifested  a preference  for  the  higher  motives 
and  nobler  forms.  Their  perpetual  theme  has  been  the 
human  soul,  and  their  constant  model  the  human  figure. 
Botli  ancients  and  moderns  constantly  sought  to  elevate 
the  spheres  of  action  and  feeling  into  the  unseen  world. 
Hence  the  lofty  idealism  of  their  best  art.  Nature,  apart 
from  humanity,  has  never  been  to  either  a particular  inspi- 
ration. Domestic,  common,  or  low  life,  and  genre  sub- 
jects, such  as  the  northern  schools  delight  in,  gave  them 
small  pleasure.  Their  artistic  ambition,  like  their  imagi- 
nation, has  ever  been  lofty.  And  when  they  forsook  spir- 
ituality for  naturalism,  they  still  clave  to  the  human  form 
and  mind  as  their  chief  elements  of  inspiration.  Unlike 
the  English,  they  never  developed  landscape  art  except  as 
an  accessory,  although  in  the  hands  of  Titian  and  Correg- 
gio it  first  assumed  a beauty,  breadth,  and  dignity,  which, 
as  it  were,  created  for  the  landscape  an  independent  exist- 
ence, evincing  in  them,  had  they  been  content  to  have  be- 
stowed their  full  powers  upon  that  branch  of  painting,  a 
capacity  to  have  carried  it  to  a degree  of  excellence  equally 
as  remarkable  as  that  which  they  attained  in  the  treatment 
of  human  expression. 

The  broader  charter  of  freedom  now  gifted  to  art  dif- 
fered from  its  Giottesque  predecessor  in  several  points. 


WHAT  IS  NATURALISM  \ 


24  5 


That  admitted  progress,  but  solely  under  religious  control. 
Art  could  not,  therefore,  be  wholly  independent  in  develop- 
ment until  the  absolute  choice  of  topics  and  entire  liberty 
of  method  were  permitted  to  it.  These  prerogatives  it  had 
now  won.*  From  that  period  art  was  understood  and 
cultivated  from  a wider  range  of  motives  and  greater  lati- 
tude of  taste,  continuing  to  administer  to  religion,  but  by 
degrees  varying  her  expression,  till  at  last  she  gave  vent 
to  every  thought  and  impulse  of  humanity.  And  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  descending  from  her  highest  function,  to  preach, 
she  was  content  in  turn  to  teach,  to  illustrate,  to  decorate, 
to  amuse,  and,  alas  ! in  the  fulness  of  decadence,  to  seduce; 
forsaking  her  spiritual  God  for  the  idols  of  the  senses. 

But  the  transition  to  the  abomination  of  degradation  was 
not  immediate.  Before  sinking  into  the  mire,  in  coming 
down  from  its  heaveilward  elevation,  for  a while  we  tread 
firmly  and  elastically  the  joyous,  varied,  substantial  earth, 
with  its  wondrous  elements  of  lofty  resolve  and  noble  ac- 
tion. Civilization,  with  its  intense  realism,  becomes  the 
popular  theme. 

What  is  naturalism  \ Art  can  go  to  two  sources  only 
for  models.  First,  the  imagination,  out  of  which  she  cre- 


* We  say  won,  though  at  times  the  Church  asserted  her  right  of  dictation 
when  it  suspected  covert  heresy  or  indelicate  license  in  pictorial  expression. 
A devotional  picture  painted  by  Sandro  Botticelli  was  ultimately  condemned 
by  the  censors  of  the  Inquisition,  covered  up,  and  the  chapel  in  which  it  hung 
interdicted,  because  they  thought  they  detected  a sort  of  modelling  in  the 
draped  bosoms  of  the  angels  indicative  of  erroneous  belief  or  a desire  on  the 
part  of  the  painter  to  represent  them  as  females.  Timoteo  della  Vite  likewise 
incurred  the  rigid  scrutiny  of  the  Holy  Office  for  having  given  an  unorthodox 
representation  of  the  Trinity,  and  for  tinting  the  snowy  plumage  of  the  dove 
(the  Holy  Spirit)  of  the  Annunciation  of  a ruddy  hue,  which  was  considered 
as  a stain  upon  the  immaculate  conception.  But  in  Italy  this  kind  of  censor- 
ship came  into  vogue  somewhat  late,  and  exercised  no  puerile  control  over  art 
as  in  Spain.  The  Church  did  right  to  prevent  the  desecration  of  holy  symbols, 
but  it  certainly,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  did  not  forcibly  interfere  with  the 
sesthetic  freedom  of  painting,  to  the  detriment  of  good  taste  or  artistic  truth. 


246 


INDIVIDUALISM  THE  PILOT. 


ates  forms  corresponding  to  her  ideas,  having  of  necessity 
some  likeness  though  not  an  absolute  resemblance  to  visi- 
ble types.  Secondly,  to  Nature  direct,  as  man,  animal, 
vegetable,  mineral,  water,  or  atmosphere.  Aspiring  to 
represent  them,  she  must  copy  or  imitate.  Hence,  in  using 
that  term,  it  applies  to  that  art  which  goes  to  the  natural 
world  for  motives,  laws,  and  teachings ; analyzing  and 
studying  its  manifold  conditions,  to  reincorporate  them 
into  plastic  or  pictorial  expression. 

Hence  scientific  progress.  The  idealism  of  the  masters 
now  under  review,  unlike  the  classical,  is  their  exceptional 
phase.  Their  invention  delights  more  in  reproduction  than 
re-creation  ; matter-of-fact  truth  and  positive  character  be- 
ing preferred  to  the  more  subtle  truths  of  ideal  beauty 
and  spiritual  sentiment. 

Naturalism  being  installed  as  the  basis  of  the  fresh  prog- 
ress, individualism  became  its  pilot.  Each  artist  allowed 
his  rationalistic,  sensuous,  or  moral  proclivities  free  play, 
according  as  either  one  predominated,  earnest  in  whatever 
he  undertook,  and  prone  to  scientific  practice  and  experi- 
ment. The  fifteenth  century  in  Italy  was  one  of  intense 
intellectual  activity.  Society  then  was  undergoing  its  Epic 
phase ; solving  by  the  vicissitudes  of  experience  many  im- 
portant problems.  Its  artistic  and  intellectual  progress 
in  extent  and  rapidity  may  be  compared  to  the  material 
expansion  and  universal  activity  of  America  in  the  nine- 
teenth century.  Nothing  was  stationary  that  thought  or 
ambition  could  agitate.  Good  and  evil  were  in  fierce  strug- 
gle for  supremacy.  Art,  religion,  and  politics  alike  shared 
in  the  alternate  successes  of  the  noble  or  selfish  faculties. 
I ^Painting,  accordingly,  partook  of  the  moral  vibrations  of 
i the  times,  whilst  its  knowledge  was  steadily  increasing 
under  the  accumulating  action  of  original  thought  and  ex- 


THE  NATURALISTS. 


247 

periment.  Gentile  da  Fabriano  led  the  way  to  Venetian 
coloring,  and  became  in  it  a knightly  romancer  ; Paolo 
Ucello  and  Piero  della  Francesca  made  perspective  their 
specialty;  the  Pollajuoli,  anatomy;  Luca  Signorelli  was 
enamored  of  severe  forms  and  powerful  action ; Dello 
Delli  cultivated  the  decorative  and  historical ; Squarcione, 
of  Padua,  revived  the  rules  of  classical  art ; Fra  Filippo 
was  the  first  technical  Christian  artist  in  whose  character 
and  works  sensual  and  material  expression  are  promi- 
nently found  ; and  Benozzo  Gozzoli  was  captivated  by  the 
joyous  and  beautiful  of  the  natural  world.  Out  of  such 
materials  was  constituted  this  great  epoch  of  naturalistic 
progress,  which  culminated  in  sensuous  color  in  Correggio 
and  Titian  ; in  form  and  grace  in  Raphael ; in  grandeur 
in  Michel  Angelo ; and  in  intellectual  eminence  and  univer- 
sal power  in  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

Sculpture,  the  twin  in  progress  with  painting,  and  fre- 
quently practised  by  the  same  artist,  continued  to  be  inti- 
mately connected  with  it,  in  taste  and  feeling.  Architec- 
ture also  shared  in  their  common  inspiration.  Filippo 
Brunelleschi  (1377- 1446),  was  the  first  to  study  per- 
spective after  a scientific  method,  which  he  taught  to  Ma- 
saccio. Gothic  forms  were  supplanted  by  the  semi-clas- 
sical arch  and  dome,  the  precursors  of  the  Renaissant  style. 
Donatello  (1383— 1466),  the  Robbia  family,  of  whom  Luca 
(1400-1481)  was  the  chief,  and  their  disciples  gave  to 
sculpture  the  contemplative,  spiritual  character  of  the  Fra 
Angelico  school  of  painting.  From  Lorenzo  Ghiberti 
(1381-1435)  and  bis  succession  it  derived  the  opposite 
impulse ; eclectic,  dramatic,  and  naturalistic,  tinged  at  first 
with  the  Byzantine  element,  but  soon  freeing  itself  from 
that,  it  arrived  at  the  same  liberty  of  choice  and  expression 
which  had  begun  to  characterize  the  kindred  branch  of 


MASOLINO  DA  PANICALE. 


248 

painting.  The  great  error  of  the  Ghiberti  school  was  in 
its  burdening  its  backgrounds  with  a multiplicity  of  details 
not  suited  to  its  vehicles  of  expression,  and  attempting  in 
marble,  wood,  or  bronze,  and  even  the  precious  metals, 
impossibilities  of  aerial  perspective. 

Masolino  da  Panicale  (14*03-1440),  of  Florence,  bears 
towards  Masaccio  the  same  relation  as  the  forerunner  of  a 
new  movement  that  Cimabue  did  to  Giotto.  Here,  how- 
ever, the  resemblance  ceases.  The  old  painter  was  grand 
and  solemn  — the  new,  natural  and  graceful.  He  com- 
bined delicacy  of  coloring  and  sentiment,  acquired  from 
Starnina,  reminding  one  of  Fra  Angelico,  with  the  closer 
observation  of  nature,  the  improved  design  and  relief  of 
his  teacher,  Ghiberti,  warmer  flesh  tints  and  nicer  grada- 
tions of  light  and  shade,  ease  of  movement  and  graceful 
naturalness,  and  a taste  for  the  landscape,  but  in  a rudi- 
mentary degree,  that  distinguished  his  co-worker,  Masac- 
cio. He  would  have  stood  in  more  prominent  relief 
among  the  great  painters,  — for  the  advances  he  made 
entitle  him  to  real  consideration,  — had  not  the  fame  of 
Masaccio  so  much  eclipsed  his.  He  was  cut  off  in 
mid-career  from  excessive  application  to  his  profession. 
Beside  his  well-known  frescoes  in  the  Carmine,  which  in 
general  character  and  execution  harmonize  so  well  with 
those  of  Masaccio  that  it  is  only  recently  that  popular  crit- 
icism has  succeeded  in  discriminating  between  their  styles, 
others  by  him  have  recently  been  discovered  in  the  college 
church  of  Castiglione  d’  Olona,  near  Milan. 

There  were  also  two  contemporaries  of  Masolino,  both 
progressive  artists  of  fertile  invention  and  ingenuity,  who 
deserve  being  held  in  remembrance  on  particular  grounds. 
One  was  Dello,  a Florentine,  also  a sculptor,  born  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  alive  in  1455.  He 


DELLO,  THE  “ CASONE  ” PAINTER. 


m 


was  among-  the  first  to  pay  attention  to  the  nude  and  to  mus- 
cular action,  but  now  chiefly  recommends  himself  by  his 
numerous  decorative  paintings,  historical,  allegorical,  classi- 
cal, and  religious,  upon  the  richly  carved  or  gilded  bridal- 
chests  and  the  waiters  on  which  were  borne  the  valuable 
gifts  on  the  occasion  of  marriages  or  births,  so  fashionable 
in  this  century.  The  best  artists  did  not  disdain  this  sort 
of  work.  Although  partaking  of  the  character  of  furni- 
ture, it  is  precious  for  its  beautiful  and  spirited  sculp- 
ture, inlaid  woods  and  stones,  gilding,  and  above  all  for 
the  quality  of  its  paintings,  to  which  the  former  served 
merely  as  a rich  framing.  The  Greek  and  Latin  poets, 
Dante,  Petrarch,  Boccaccio,  the  novels  of  the  day,  fanciful 
allegories,  troubadour  adventures,  family  incidents,  festivals, 
solemnities,  fightings,  and  tournaments,  the  principal  per- 
sonages and  those  who  ordered  the  paintings,  the  latter  being 
distinguished  by  their  heraldic  devices,  formed  the  usual 
topics.  These  pictures  are  much  sought  for,  not  only  for 
their  intrinsic  value,  but  as  illustrating  in  a graphic  and 
picturesque  manner  the  costumes  and  habits  of  the  age ; 
its  domestic  and  public  architecture  ; its  in-door  and  out- 
door existence ; and  for  their  gradual  development  of  the 
landscape  and  animal  life,  in  painting ; its  hunting  scenes, 
sea-fights,  quaint  fancies,  and  naive  compositions  ; in  fine 
for  the  panoramic  view  they  give  us  of  the  pleasures,  pur- 
suits, and  tastes  ; the  intellectual  character,  and  the  mode 
of  interpreting  the  past  of  aesthetic  Italy,  in  the  fifteenth 
century.  Their  varied,  secular  themes  were  a welcome  foil 
and  relief  to  the  monotony  and  asceticism  of  purely  relig- 
ious art ; as  grateful  to  the  student  in  their  spirited,  his- 
torical picturesqueness  after  the  lapse  of  three  hundred 
years,  beside  their  archaic  value,  as  they  were  popular  in 
their  pristine  beauty  among  the  wealthy  and  noble  families 


250 


PAOLO  UCELLO. 


that  bespoke  them.  Dello  is  so  connected  with  this  branch 
of  painting  that  “ casone ,”  as  these  chests  are  called,  of  any 
merit,  even  in  Florence,  are  indiscriminately  attributed  to 
him,  although  several  artists  of  greater  eminence  likewise 
adorned  them.  His  coloring  is  strong  and  not  inharmo- 
nious, with  a rich  display  of  accessories,  much  action,  and  a 
keen  eye  for  the  common  and  external.  The  green  cloisters 
of  Sta.  Maria  Novella,  so  called  from  the  colors  of  the  earth 
he  used,  painted  in  chiaroscuro,  were  partly  done  by  him, 
though  they  by  no  means  show  his  best  work,  which  was 
on  a smaller  scale.  He  also  worked  for  a number  of  years 
in  Spain,  where  he  acquired  wealth  and  reputation. 

The  other  contemporary  of  Masolino  and  fellow-citizen 
of  Dello  was  Paolo  Ucello  (1396-1479)=  Industrious 
and  enthusiastic,  his  art  was  everything  to  him.  His 
chief  delight  was  in  the  practice  and  investigation  of  per- 
spective, consuming  upon  it  so  much  time,  attempting  so 
many  impossibilities,  and  displaying  such  extraordinary 
caprices,  as  to  draw  forth  from  his  friend  Donatello  the 
expostulatory  exclamation,  “ Ah  ! Paolo,  this  perspective 
of  yours  makes  you  leave  the  certain  for  the  uncertain.” 
It  certainly  did  in  his  finances,  for,  absorbed  in  his  studies 
and  painting  with  such  earnestness  as  to  forget  his  press- 
ing material  necessities,  despite  his  real  talents,  poverty 
was  always  at  his  door.  But  not  even  want,  nor  the  pa- 
thetic reproaches  of  his  half-starved  wife,  who  waited  silent 
and  alone  while  he  sat  up  entire  nights  absorbed  in  his 
favorite  pursuit,  could  induce  him  to  forego  his  experi- 
ments. Each  time  that  she  came  beseeching  him  to  leave 
his  pencils  and  go  to  bed,  he  would  reply  “ Oil ! my  dear, 
if  you  only  knew  how  beautiful  a thing  perspective  is  ! ” 
leaving  her  to  take  such  comfort  out  of  her  bootless  errand 
as  she  best  might. 


PAOLO  UCELLO. 


25 1 


Smile  we  may  at  the  fanaticism  of  the  zealous  old 
painter  and  pity  his  contempt  of  self-indulgence  in  the  pur- 
suit of  artistic  truth.  But  out  of  such  devotion  sprung 
that  old  art-mastery  which  so  delights  and  instructs  us. 
In  Paolo’s  frescoes  at  Sta.  Maria  Novella,  representing 
the  Creation  and  the  Deluge,  we  perceive,  as  compared 
with  previous  paintings,  that  his  vagaries  in  perspective 
were  not  without  some  truth,  and  that  he  has  great  vigor, 
naturalness,  a vivid  conception  of  his  subject,  and  a singu- 
lar fondness  of  details,  crowding  his  compositions  with 
figures,  highly  dramatic  and  yet  varied  in  action.  Nor  is 
he  destitute  of  a certain  humorous  pathos.  Of  such  a 
character  is  the  figure  hanging  on  with  his  fingers  and  toes 
to  the  sides  of  the  ark,  in  a most  hopeless  and  desperate 
attitude.  Also  the  man  squatting  low  in  a tub  for  fear  of 
upsetting  it,  and  floating  triumphantly  along-side  of  the  huge 
vessel,  evidently  flattering  himself  that  Ms  ark  may  also 
weather  the  flood.  Then,  too,  the  figure  of  the  naked  man 
buoyed  up  on  a treacherous  cask,  which  threatens  momen- 
tarily to  unseat  him.  One  drowning  wretch  clings  with 
convulsive  grasp  to  the  feet  of  Noah,  who  calmly  reproves 
his  futile  hope  of  escape.  Raphael  in  his  “ Bible  Stories” 
in  the  Vatican,  did  not  disdain  to  borrow  from  quaint 
old  Paolo.  How  naturally  horrible  the  combat  between 
the  man  on  horseback,  himself  and  beast  struggling  to 
escape  the  engulfing  tide,  and  that  despairing  assailant 
who  is  so  eager  to  dispossess  him  of  his  precarious 
seat ! Corpses  floating  by,  blue  and  swollen,  vultures 
preying  upon  them  ; beautiful  traits  of  maternal  instinct  or 
filial  devotion ; fury,  terror,  self-sacrifice,  and  selfish  strug- 
gle ; death  come  and  death  coming  ; a picturesque  inter- 
mingling* of  the  events  and  emotions  conceivable  on  a 

O O 

drowning  world:  all  this  is  admirably  depicted.  We 


252 


PAOLO  UCELLO. 


love  him,  dear  old  painter  ! His  animals  are  vigorous  and 
real,  his  action  so  earnest  and  graceful,  at  times  quite 
Raphaelesque  ; he  has  such  an  observant  eye  and  w arm 
sympathy  for  the  outer  world  ; then,  too,  his  silent  u Natty- 
Bumpo  ” chuckle  at  it,  — for  is  he  not  independent  of  it ! his 
palpable  delight,  call  it  childish  it  is  so  enjoyable,  in  the 
introduction  of  varied  machines,  scaffoldings,  and  super- 
abundant architecture  that  he  may  display  his  freaks  of 
perspective  and  find  an  excuse  for  his  dearly  beloved  geo- 
metrical lines ; his  sympathy  for  color  and  pleasure  in  rich- 
ness of  apparel  and  chivalresque  scenes,  brave  adventure, 
and  noble  doing  ; love  of  66  casone  ” because  he  can  peo- 
ple them  with  the  poems  of  his  imagination,  that  world  of 
which  in  his  family  he  was  the  sole  occupant ; a queer  and 
captivating  medley  and  wonderful  variety  of  costumes,  per- 
sonages, gods  and  heroes,  lovely  women  and  high-born 
men,  the  past  and  present  confusedly  intermingled,  each 
detail  elaborated  with  wonderful  power  of  industry,  fancy, 
and  variety  ; and  last,  though  not  least,  his  perfect  sincer- 
ity and  absorption  of  self  in  his  work,  — all  this  makes 
Ucello  — and  that  word  reminds  us  that  he  was  so  called 
because  among  his  many  loves  he  loved  birds  dearest  of 
all,  — all  this,  we  repeat,  makes  him  vastly  interesting. 

The  improvements  based  upon  more  varied  and  natural 
motives  which  the  foregoing  artists  aimed  at  were  success- 
fully reached  by  one,  whose  best  works,  viewed  by  them- 
selves, startle  as  by  a sudden  revelation  ; but  if  we  ex- 
amine his  growth,  we  shall  perceive  that  this  noonday 
brightness  was  ushered  in  by  gentle  gradations  of  light. 
Indeed,  no  truths  of  art,  any  more  than  those  of  science  or 
religion,  spring  Minerva-like,  fully  armed  and  grown,  into 
the  world.  Wisdom  may  thus  exist  in  the  hidden  spheres, 
but  not  for  mortal  eyes.  So  although  Masaccio  in  those 


times  quite 

: / 

advent 


MASACCIO. 


253 


works  which  constitute  his  real  fame,  wonderfully  surpasses 
his  contemporaries,  looming  up  with  greater  effect  from  di- 
rect contrast  with  the  Giottesque  art  that  still  flourished 
around  him,  yet  his  earlier  progress  was  not  a little  influ- 
enced by  the  religious  masters.  This  is  perceptible  in  the 
frescoes,  much  injured  by  repainting,  in  St.  Clemento  at 
Rome,  and  which  also  in  their  transition  manner  recall  Ma- 
solino. 

Masaccio  was  needed  at  this  juncture  by  painting,  just 
as  Giotto  had  been  nearly  a century  and  a half  before,  to 
prove  its  capacity  in  untried  motives  and  design.  He  was 
born  in  1402  at  the  castle  of  San  Giovanni  in  the  Valdar- 
no  near  Florence.  As  soon  as  he  had  acquired  his  art, 
he  rose  to  an  original  manner,  leaving  far  in  the  shade  all 
his  predecessors.  He  excelled  in  harmonious  and  correct 
delineation  of  forms  and  proportions,  strength  of  relief, 
truth  of  modelling,  gradations  of  color  and  skill  in  chia- 
roscuro, mingling  outline  imperceptibly  into  distance,  and 
other  technical  subtleties,  now  the  alphabet  of  art,  but  then 
appearing  to  critics  little  short  of  miraculous  in  their  effects; 
all  of  which  he  wrested  from  nature  by  direct  observation 
and  study.  This  is  indeed  the  key  to  the  success  of  his  en- 
tire school.  They  no  longer  indulged  in  one  conventional 
ideal,  or  sought  their  chief  inspiration  from  supersensuous 
forms  and  exalted  religious  motives,  but  preferred  to  imitate 
the  every-day  facts  and  appearances  of  nature.  As  she 
looked  so  sought  they  to  render  her,  holding  up  the  mirror 
to  her  varied  aspects ; and  when  aspiring  to  the  supernat- 
ural, they  sought  to  confine  its  spirit  in  forms  whose  mod- 
els walked  the  earth. 

Unlike  the  Greeks,  Masaccio  and  his  school  adopted  no 
lofty  ideal  of  sensuous  beauty  as  a conventional  standard, 
making  nature  conform  to  its  laws,  and  regulating  thereby 


MASACCIO. 


254, 

their  compositions,  for  they  were  satisfied  with  the  world 
about  them  as  a perpetual  inspiration.  They  drew  the 
crowd,  painted  features,  portrayed  individuality  and  natural 
phenomena  just  as  the  panorama  of  life  wheeled  on  in  their 
sight.  Naturalistic  is  their  correct  designation.  Their 
aim  a photographic  exhibition  of  realities,  common  or 
noble,  beautiful  or  mean,  as  might  be,  unfettered  by  any 
theory  of  ideal  grace  or  severe  law  of  choice.  And  this 
conception  of  art,  fresh  and  virgin,  avoiding  all  servile  hold 
on  the  classical,  departing  essentially  in  its  aims  from  the 
purely  religious,  like  in  spirit  to  the  primitive  Etruscan, 
revived  after  its  long  sleep  with  a genius  hitherto  not  to 
the  manor  born  in  Italy,  must  be  kept  carefully  in  mind 
in  comparing  the  relative  excellences  of  each  principle. 

Subsequent  knowledge  improved  upon  the  details  of 
Masaccio ; but  no  subsequent  art  has  outstripped  his 
graphic  features,  natural  and  vigorous  grouping,  and 
strongly  defined  character.  In  him  lay  the  whole  system 
of  the  new  expansion.  He  pointed  out  the  road,  and  gave 
examples  of  progress  that  are  still  a distinct  school  in 
painting ; the  elder  in  excellence  as  in  precedence  in  its 
special  direction.  Some  of  his  figures  seem  the  counter- 
part of  life  itself.  Emotion  is  admirably  portrayed.  His 
attitudes  are  dignified,  and  his  draperies  broadly  and  grace- 
fully massed,  sustained  by  correctly  indicated  anatomy, 
and  appropriately  moved  by  muscular  action.  There  is 
also  with  him  a delicate  fitness  of  his  individual  to  his  sit- 
uation, and  a graphic,  grand  style  of  composition,  full  of 
vitality  from  its  comprehending  in  one  scenic  whole  minor 
incidents  in  keeping  with  the  main  story,  lending  to  all 
picturesque  variety  of  action  and  character,  just  as  is  seen 
in  the  actual  world.  Each  individual  falls  easily  and  nat- 
urally into  his  proper  position,  and  however  numerous, 
there  is  no  crowding  or  confusion  of  forms. 


MASACCIO. 


255 


The  disposition  of  his  masses  is  most  masterly,  every- 
where admitting  space  and  free  movement.  He  was  par- 
tial to  portraiture,  introducing  his  friends  into  his  composi- 
tions, and  he  had  a chaste  conception  of  the  nude.  The 
frescoes  of  the  Branacci  chapel  in  the  Carmine  at  Florence 
are  his  best  productions.  They  attract  even  now  amateurs 
and  students  of  all  countries,  and  in  his  own  time  they  were 
not  less  appreciated.  Artists  of  the  most  diverse  methods 
and  ideas  went  to  them  for  instruction.  The  pious  Fra 
Angelico  and  the  sinning  Fra  Filippo,  antagonistic  in  styles 
as  in  lives  ; Castagno,  Verrocchio,  Domenico  Ghirlandajo, — 
who  of  all  those  that  studied  here  most  resembles  Masac- 
cio in  his  epic  individuality,  — Botticelli,  Perugino,  Fra 
Bartolomeo,  and  the  lesser  artists  of  their  times  came  to 
this  chapel  for  artistic  refreshment  and  vigor  ; and  finally 
we  see  Leonardo,  Raphael,  and  Buonarotti  modestly  sitting 
at  his  feet.  Raphael  even  transferred  his  “Adam  and  Eve” 
to  the  Loggie  of  the  Vatican,  and  borrowed  invention  oth- 
erwise from  him,  beside  learning  purity  and  strength  of 
design.  Subsequently,  other  generations  of  distinguished 
painters  went  to  the  same  unfailing  fountain  of  inspiration. 
Ridolfo  Ghirlandajo,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  II  Rosso,  Francia- 
bigio,  Pontormo,  Pierino  del  Vaga;  foreigners  from  all 
Europe  ; so  that  while  art  retained  any  semblance  of  worth 
and  dignity  this  little  chapel  was  a shrine  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  them  all.  Judge,  then,  what  must  have  been  their 
enthusiastic  welcome  when  the  public  were  first  admitted 
to  view  these  noble  paintings  ! 

There  are  twelve  in  all,  though  from  the  hand  of  Masac- 
cio we  possess  only  “Adam  and  Eve  expelled  from  Para- 
dise,” with  its  noble  angel,  so  graceful,  free,  and  impres- 
sively grand  in  its  movement,  “ The  Tribute  Money,”  “ St. 
Peter  and  St.  John  healing  the  Sick,”  “ St.  Peter  bap- 


£56 


MASACCIO. 


tizing,”  in  which  is  seen  that  naked,  shivering  youth  so 
admirably  conceived  that  it  has  always  held  rank  as  a mar- 
vel of  realism  in  art,  and  “ Peter  raising  to  life  a dead  youth 
on  whom  the  incantations  of  Simon  Magus  had  failed ; ” 
five  compositions  in  all.  The  last  is  partly  the  work  of 
Filippino  Lippi,  who  finished  it  after  Masaccio’s  death. 
His  figures  consist  of  a group  of  five  on  the  extreme  left 
and  ten  in  the  centre,  beginning  with  the  naked  boy  and 
going  to  the  right.  Aided  by  the  designs  of  the  greater 
master,  they  have  much  of  his  feeling  and  manner,  but 
there  is  in  them  a certain  feebleness  and  lack  of  repose 
quite  sufficient  to  betray  a difference  of  touch  and  strength 
from  the  remaining  ones. 

Of  the  other  frescoes,  “ St.  Peter  Preaching,”  “ Heal- 
ing the  Cripple,”  “ Curing  Petronilla,”  and  “ The  Fall  of 
Adam  ” are  by  Masolino,  who  enjoys  the  reputation  of 
having  been  the  master  of  Masaccio.  But  as  the  latter 
was  born  in  1402,  one  year  before  Masolino,  this  could 
not  have  been.  Both  died  prematurely  young,  within 
three  years  of  each  other,  overtaxed  in  health  by  their  de- 
votion to  art.  From  the  superior  strength  and  invention 
of  Masaccio,  it  is  more  likely  that,  as  it  occurred  between 
Raphael  and  Pinturicchio,  he  aided  and  inspired  Masolino. 
This  would  account  for  their  approachment  of  styles,  and 
the  superiority  of  Masolino’s  later  to  his  earlier  efforts, 
which  bear  more  similitude  to  the  feeling  and  manner  of 
the  school  of  Fra  Angelico  than  to  the  hardier  and  more 
natural  composition  and  historic  character  which  charac- 
terize him  in  company  with  Masaccio. 

Filippino’s  exclusive  works  are  the  “ Crucifixion  of  St. 
Peter,”  “ Release  from  Prison,”  and  “ Visitation  of  St. 
Paul.”  Although  well  preserved,  these  frescoes  can  be 
seen  to  advantage  only  on  a clear  day  in  the  afternoon 


MASACCIO. 


257 


light,  on  account  of  the  darkness  of  the  chapel,  which  also, 
from  its  smallness,  does  not  admit  of  a proper  distance  for 
the  sight.  Masaccio’s  frescoes  are  the  more  interesting 
because  containing  portraits  of  himself  and  Masolino,  vig- 
orously and  broadly  treated,  beside  which,  Filippino’s  like- 
nesses of  Botticelli,  Pollajuolo,  and  himself  appear  meagre 
and  hard. 

To  Masaccio  must  be  accorded  the  distinguishing  merit, 
as  an  historical  painter,  of  being  the  first  to  technically  per- 
fect the  motives  and  progress  suggested  by  Giotto.  He 
supplied  what  was  wanting  in  art  to  the  latter,  and  created 
a new  school  of  design  that  has  fructified  all  subsequent 
painting.  By  some  the  groundwork  of  his  style  is  attrib- 
uted to  the  teaching  and  example  of  Ghiberti  and  Dona- 
tello. His  was  a kindred  but  entirely  independent  mind. 
Possibly  in  the  rules  of  sculpture  he  received  hints  from 
them.  His  manner,  however,  is  wholly  free  from  the  im- 
press of  other  mental  power  than  his  own.  He  was  truer 
and  broader  in  his  conception  of  nature  as  a model,  and  less 
influenced  by  extraneous  motives  than  any  of  his  contem- 
poraries. In  drapery  he  is  particularly  happy,  rendering 
it  simply  and  naturally,  indicating  a correct  feeling  for 
form  and  movement,  and,  like  Raphael,  suggestive  of  indi- 
vidual character.  His  demerits  are  so  scanty  considering 
his  epoch  — the  somewhat  heavy  and  constrained  figures 
of  Adam  and  Eve,  for  instance  — that  they  make  no  im- 
pression in  viewing  his  compositions  as  a whole.  We  find 
in  Masaccio  the  elements  of  mastery  over  natural  obstacles 
struggling  successfully  onward,  — it  would  be  juster  to  say, 
doing  the  work  of  generations  of  common  men  in  one  brief 
lifetime,  — impelled  by  an  original  skill  of  manipulation 
and  wonderful  inventive  force.  He  goes  straight  forward 
to  the  natural  and  probable.  His  meaning  must  be  sought 

17 


25  8 


FRA  FILIPPO  LIPPI. 


outside  of  himself,  in  the  world  of  events.  Not  a trace  of 
himself — his  weaknesses,  sympathies,  faith,  or  illusions  — 
can  he  detected  in  his  pictures.  Art  absorbs  his  individu- 
ality. His  are  intellectual  creations,  leading-  the  spectator 
away  from  the  artist  into  his  art,  betraying  no  secrets  of 
his  own  soul,  but,  like  Shakspeare,  making  us  instead, 
to  know  the  beings  and  scenes  his  genius  summons  to  our 
sight. 

This  sort  of  self-abnegation  clings  close  to  Masaccio  in 

o o 

his  fame.  All  the  world  knows  his  pictures,  hut  no  one 
knows  him.  Anecdotes  and  events  told  of  his  contempo- 
raries, beside  their  own  disclosures  of  character  in  their  art, 
make  Fra  Filippo,  Fra  Angelico,  and  even  Paolo  Ucello 
familiar  to  us  as  men.  But  of  the  greatest  of  them  all  we 
only  know  that  he  painted  not  himself  hut  his  subject ; 
was  so  absorbed  by  his  studies  as  to  utterly  neglect  his 
personal  needs  and  looks,  whence  his  nickname  of  Masac- 
cio, or  careless  Tom,  Maso  being  his  true  one  ; forgot  to 
claim  his  dues,  was  disinterestedly  kind  and  amiable,  revo- 
lutionized painting,  won  immortality,  and  died  so  suddenly 
in  his  forty-first  year  (T443)  as  to  have  given  rise  to  sus- 
picion of  ^poison ; and  thus  cut  off’  before  having  attained 
his  prime,  he  was  considered  capable  of  still  greater  excel- 
lence than  he  had  already  manifested. 

The  Carmelite,  Filippo  Lippi,  (14T2— 1469,)  is  an  alto- 
gether new  character  for  us.  His  relations  intended  him 
for  a monk ; nature  made  him  a Gil  Bias  and  an  artist. 
Instead  of  attending  to  the  grammar  lessons  which  formed 
part  of  the  preparatory  studies  of  his  novitiate,  he  covered 
his  books  with  drawings  so  spiritedly  done  as  to  attract  the 
attention  of  his  prior,  who  — rare  and  sensible  monk  — 
permitted  him  to  follow  his  bent.  In  company  with  the 
young  artists  of  the  day  he  frequented  the  frescoes  of  Ma- 


FRA  FILIPPO  LIPPI. 


saccio,  then  just  finished  in  the  Carmine,  and  being  enam- 
ored of  them,  so  thoroughly  borrowed  their  spirit  that  it 
became  a current  saying  that  “ the  soul  of  Masaccio  had 
passed  into  the  body  of  Fra  Filippo.”  There  is,  however, 
as  much  difference  in  their  paintings  as  their  deportments. 
A restless  sensualist,  Filippo  at  seventeen  escaped  from 
the  discipline  of  his  convent,  and  with  his  pencil  in  hand 
as  his  patrimony,  went  forth  to  learn  life  under  the  pilotage 
of  an  erratic  will.  'He  soon  found  there  were  other  bolts 
and  bars  beside  those  of  a monastery,  and  harder  tasks 
than  grammar  lessons.  For  one  day,  near  Ancona,  put- 
ting out  to  sea  with  some  companions  in  a small  boat  in 
quest  of  pleasure,  they  were  captured  by  pirates  and  sold 
into  slavery  in  Barbary.  Thus  began  his  novitiate  into 
worldly  life.  Filippo  worked  hard  and  fared  meagrely. 
But  Fortune,  who  so  often  favors  those  who  sport  with  her, 
prompted  his  Mussulman  owner,  in  lieu  of  beheading  him 
for  daring,  contrary  to  the  laws  of  Mahomet,  to  make  his 
likeness  with  a bit  of  charcoal  upon  a whitewashed  wall, 
to  the  astonishment  of  his  brutal  fellow-slaves  who  looked 
upon  it  as  a miracle,  to  give  him  his  freedom  and  a com- 
mission for  several  pictures  in  color.  These  done  to  his 
satisfaction, 'the  liberal-souled  Moor  saw  him  safely  landed 
on  the  shores  of  Calabria,  whence  he  found  his  way  to  Na- 
ples and  secured  the  patronage  of  the  Duke.  Returning 
to  Florence,  Cosmo  de’  Medici  became  his  friend  and  em- 
ployer. But  his  amorous  propensities  so  interfered  with 
the  progress  of  his  painting  that  Cosmo  had  him  locked 
up  with  his  work.  For  two  days  the  Frate  patiently  en- 
dured the  confinement,  but  his  appetite  only  growing  the 
more  ravenous  upon  this  forced  abstinence,  one  night  he 
tore  up  the  sheets  of  his  bed,  and  making  them  into  a rope 
let  himself  down  to  the  street,  to  the  imminent  peril  of  his 


260 


COSMO,  THE  FALSE. 


graceless  neck.  For  several  days  he  frequented  the  haunts 
of  debauchery,  taking  his  fill  of  sin,  and  then  returned  to 
his  palette  and  went  quietly  to  his  task  again.  Cosmo, 
thinking  it  inexpedient  to  punish  him,  and  fearing  to  jeop- 
ardize his  limbs  by  another  nightly  escapade,  gave  him  his 
entire  liberty  and  received  him  into  greater  favor  than  ever, 
observing  that  44  genius  had  celestial  wings  and  was  not  to 
be  impounded  like  stray  asses.” 

Lord  Lindsay  styles  Cosmo  44  that  true  father  of  his 
country,  whose  sympathies  in  art  and  those  of  his  son 
Piero  were  as  devoutly  Christian  as  those  of  Lorenzo  X. 
were  the  reverse,”  * and  whose  46  purse  was  ever  open  to 
the  glory  of  God  as  well  as  the  honor  of  his  country.” 

The  character  of  Catholic  Cosmo  is  better  read  by  the 
Dominican  biographer  j“  of  Fra  Angelico  than  by  the  Prot- 
estant historian  of  Christian  art.  44  Cosmo,”  he  writes, 
44  was  a sovereign  without  assuming  royal  titles  and  state. 
He  was  proclaimed  the  benefactor  of  the  people  and  the 
father  of  his  country ; he  ruled,  he  revenged,  he  tyran- 
nized ; his  hank  was  his  throne  ; he  founded  the  kingdom 
of  gold,  the  tyranny  of  riches,  the  most  terrible  of  all,  be- 
cause it  corrupts  the  most.  It  was  a system  promulgated 
by  him,  and  when  any  one  complained  of  the  injury  done 
to  the  city  by  the  loss  of  the  good  citizens  who  fled  from 
his  vengeance  or  were  banished  by  him,  he  boasted  of 
being  able  to  make  other  noblemen  with  two  yards  of  fine 
cloth.” 

The  naked  truth  is,  that  this  44  Father  ” of  his  country 
was  the  most  subtle  of  her  politicians  and  the  most  saga- 
cious of  her  merchants,  with  the  ambition  of  a prince,  veiled 
by  a dissimulation  so  profound  as  to  deceive  his  own  and 
subsequent  times.  With  the  appearance  of  moderation  and 
* Yol.  iii.  p.  162.  t Cartier,  p.  269. 


THE  MEDICI. 


26 1 


republican  simplicity,  — Florence  not  being  then  ripe  for 
ducal  state  and  hereditary  rule,  — by  liberal  patronage  to 
letters  and  arts,  abundant  largesses  to  the  poor,  stimulating 
industry  by  his  own  means,  making  himself  the  easy  banker 
of  the  condottieri,  aiding  the  families  of  the  banished,  em- 
bellishing churches,  founding  convents,  favoring  religious 
establishments,  active,  insinuating,  and  dexterous  to  seduce, 
attract,  or  gain  the  suffrages  or  confidence  of  all  classes, 
profoundly  relying  upon  the  “ all  things  to  all  men  ” prin- 
ciple, he  gradually,  and  almost  without  exciting  alarm,  laid 
the  foundations  of  his  family  grandeur  on  the  liberties  of 
his  fellow-citizens. 

This  digression  from  Fra  Filippo  to  his  munificent  patron 
is  requisite  to  point  out  the  distinction  in  the  political  for- 
tunes of  the  republic  and  the  moral  effect  upon  the  people 
between  the  Guelphic  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries, 
with  their  boisterous  freedom,  deadly  perils  in  maintaining 
it,  and  their  devout  feelings,  stirring,  high-toned  individu- 
alism, which,  though  factious,  was  devoted  to  Florence  and 
all  that  honored  her,  and  the  corruption  of  manners,  increase 
of  luxury,  tendency  to  infidelity  and  levity,  ending,  after 
brief,  strenuous  struggles  on  the  part  of  a pure-minded 
minority  to  arrest  the  decadence  of  patriotic  sentiment  and 
to  restore  the  old  democratic  and  devout  tone  of  public 
affairs,  in  that  lethargy,  pedantry,  and  vice,  which,  growing 
apace  with  the  tyranny  of  the  Medici,  finally  made  of  Tus- 
cany the  graveyard  of  genius  and  freedom. # 


* The  following  extract,  translated  from  La  Storia  di  Girolamo  Savonarola, 
by  Pasquale  Villari,  Florence,  1859,  graphically  illustrates  the  hybrid  charac- 
ter of  Lorenzo,  the  Magnificent,  another  pernicious  member  of  this  pernicious 
family. 

“ A strange  existence,  truly,  was  that  of  Lorenzo  ! After  working  with  all 
the  power  of  his  intellect  and  his  will  at  the  making  of  new  laws  which  should 
crush  out  some  last  remnant  of  liberty,  — after  using  his  influence  to  obtain 


262 


FRA  FILIPPO  LiPPI. 


The  supremacy  of  this  family  was  finally  established 
upon  the  return  of  Cosmo  from  exile  in  1434.  If  “ his 
sympathies  in  art  were  devoutly  Christian,”  they  did  not 
oppose  his  bestowing'  a more  liberal  and  loving  patronage 
upon  the  dissolute  Fra  Filippo  than  upon  the  saintly  Fra 
Angelico.  As  a man  of  enlarged  and  cultivated  mind, 
with  religious  habits,  he  could  not  have  been  otherwise  than 
sensible  of  the  peculiar  virtues  of  the  latter,  but  he  found 
more  attractions  in  the  character  and  art  of  the  former. 
Publicly,  he  wished  to  conciliate  both  purists  and  sensual- 
ists. Fra  Filippo,  though  never  attempting  the  lustful  art 
which  at  times  defiles  Titian,  Correggio,  and  Julio  Romano, 
and  which  in  itself  was  the  ripened  fruit  of  the  corrupted 
taste  and  princely  patronage  systematically  inaugurated  into 
Italy  by  the  crafty  Medician  and  kindred  tyrants,  was  never- 
theless the  first  great  sensualist  in  sentiment,  as  he  was  the 
first  notoriously  profligate  artist  among  the  old  masters. 
Hence  he  begins  a new  moral  aspect  in  painting  ; the  hinge, 
as  it  may  be  termed,  of  the  naturalistic  reaction  on  its 
purely  material  side,  and  the  fountain-head  of  much  that 
subsequently  was  greatly  to  be  regretted  ; its  perniciousness 
being  enhanced  by  the  genius  of  its  authors. 

The  latest  conspicuous  adventure  of  our  amorous  artist 
was  his  seduction  and  subsequent  elopement  with  Lucretia 

some  new  decree  of  confiscation  or  sentence  of  death  — he  would  enter  the 
Platonic  Academy,  and  dispute  with  vehemence  on  virtue  and  the  immortality 
of  the  soul ; issuing  thence,  and  mingling  with  a company  of  utterly  depraved 
young  men,  he  would  sing  his  ‘ Canti  Carnascialeschi,’  or  Carnival  songs,  (of 
infamous  celebrity,)  and  give  himself  up  to  wine  and  women ; then  return 
home  again,  and  at  table,  in  the  society  of  Pulci  and  Politian,  recite  verses  and 
discourse  on  poetry : and  to  each  of  these  pursuits  he  gave  himself  up  so 
wholly,  that  each  seemed  to  be  the  sole  aim  of  his  life.  But  the  strangest 
thing  of  all  is,  that  in  the  midst  of  such  a multiform  existence  not  a single  ac- 
tion can  we  find  stamped  with  true  virtue  and  generosity,  either  towards  his 
people,  his  intimates,  or  his  kindred  ; and  surely,  were  the  case  otherwise,  his 
indefatigable  panegyrists  would  hardly  have  neglected  to  record  it.” 


FRA  FILIPPO  LIPPI. 


263 


Buti,  a novice,  scarcely  out  of  her  childhood,  in  the  convent 
of  Sta.  Margherita  at  Prato.  He  had  accidentally  seen 
the  blonde  beauty,  so  rare  in  Tuscany,  and  being  enamored, 
as  was  usual  with  him,  at  sight,  slyly  obtained  permission 
to  have  her  sit  to  him  as  a model  for  the  Madonna,  which 
he  was  painting  to  order  for  an  altar-piece  for  the  convent. 
The  unsuspecting  nuns  fell  into  the  snare,  and  Lucretia 
was  allowed  to  be  his  companion  during  his  working  hours. 
He  so  well  improved  them  in  making  love  that  the  inex- 
perienced maiden  was  speedily  won  and  consented  to  run 
away  with  him,  promising  to  avail  herself  for  that  purpose 
of  the  liberty  to  go  out  of  the  convent  which  would  be  ac- 
corded her  on  a coming  festival.  The  monk’s  audacity  was 
successful,,  and  the  erring  Lucretia  fled  from  her  chaste 
sisters  to  become  the  mistress  of  the  scapegrace  painter. 
She  loved  him  with  constancy  as  well  as  44  over  much^’’  for 
she  was  proof  against  every  effort  of  the  scandalized  sister- 
hood and  her  distracted  father  to  get  her  back.  After  this 
foul  disgrace  he  never  held  up  his  head  again.  She  gave 
birth  to  a son,  Filippino,  who,  as  we  shall  see,  not  only 
figured  with  distinction  in  art,  but  eschewed  the  evil  ways 
of  his  father.  Age  seems  neither  to  have  tamed  his  fires 
nor  improved  his  morals.  He  squandered  his  gains  in 
lustful  pleasures,  and  when  he  could  not  promptly  get  ac- 
cess to  the  object  of  his  capricious  desires,  he  sought  to 
appease  his  appetite  by  painting  from  imagination  the 
charms  which  inflamed  him.  A special  license  to  sin  seems 
to  have  been  accorded  to  him.  For  we  find  Giovanni  de’ 
Medici  writing  to  Bartolomeo  Serragli,  2~jt\i  May,  1458, 
referring  to  the  affair  of  Lucretia,  44  We  have  laughed  not  a 
little  at  the  4 errore  ’ of  Fra  Filippo ; ” % and  when  Pope 
Eugenio  wished  to  repair  the  scandal  by  giving  him  a dis- 
* Gaye,  vol.  i.  p.  180. 


FRA  FILIPPO  LIPPI. 


£64 

pensation  to  wed,  he  bluntly  refused,  saying*  “ he  preferred 
to  gratify  his  lust  as  he  chose  and  did  not  care  to  marry.”  * 
Some  accounts  have  it  that  his  death  was  occasioned  by 
poison,  given  by  the  relatives  of  a married  lady  with  whom 
he  had  an  intrigue,  while  employed  on  his  last  work,  an 
altar-piece  for  the  Spoleto  Cathedral,  f Poor  in  purse 
he  always  was,  in  consequence  of  his  vagabond,  dissi- 
pated life ; but  his  remains  were  honored  with  a magnifi- 
cent tomb  at  Spoleto,  in  its  holiest  sanctuary,  erected  at 
the  charge  of  Lorenzo  de’  Medici,  after  the  refusal  of  the 
inhabitants  to  give  up  his  corpse  to  him  for  still  more  hon- 
ored obsequies  in  the  Duomo  of  Florence.  They  perti- 
nently observed  that  Florence  had  a superfluity  of  distin- 
guished men  while  they  were  poorly  provided,  and  begged 
permission  to  retain  the  corpse  of  this  much-admired  artist. 
Angelo  Poliziano  wrote  verses  in  his  praise,  inscribed  them 
upon  his  tomb,  and  printed  them  in  his  works.  Licentious 
as  he  was,  he  secured  the  friendship  and  esteem  of  many, 
and  in  death  received  honors  which  contrast  singularly  with 
the  silence  in  which  his  equal  in  art,  though  in  another 
vein,  and  his  superior  infinitely  in  moral  worth,  passed 
from  earth,  the  meek  Fra  Angelico.  But  it  is  presumable 
that  the  qualities  of  Fra  Filippo’s  heart  and  manners  were 
such  as  were  then  most  current  with  society  at  large. 

Fra  Filippo  is,  perhaps,  the  first  great  Italian  artist  who 
substituted  for  the  ideal  type  of  the  Madonna  the  natural 
traits  of  living  models,  usually  in  his  case  those  of  bis  mis- 
tress ; an  example  soon  largely  followed,  though  there  still 
lingers  among  some  of  his  and  later  types  of  sacred  per- 
sonages somewhat  of  the  old  sentiment  of  flesh  purified 
and  spirit  sanctified.  In  all  men’s  lives  there  are  moments 


* Vasari,  vol.  iv.  p.  129. 

t Pilkington’s  Diet,  of  Painters , London,  1852,  and  Baldinueci,  vol.  i.  p.  513. 


FRA  FILIPPO  LIPPI. 


265 


of  healthful  reflection  and  holy  desire.  Their  inspiration, 
dormant  though  it  mostly  remains,  will  at  times  outflash 
from  the  hearts  into  the  pencils  and  pens  of  artists  and  au- 
thors, and  illumine  their  works  with  a light  which,  when 
compared  with  their  average  character,  may  almost  seem 
celestial.  So  it  is  with  Fra  Filippo.  He  ennobles  expres- 
sion occasionally  with  winsome  tenderness,  grace,  and  dig- 
nity. His  forms  are  grand  without  being  colossal ; his 
draperies  broadly  and  beautifully  disposed,  inclined  to  the 
sharp  and  angular  ; his  colors  strong,  dingy  brown  pre- 
vailing, with  marked  contrasts,  frequently  wanting  in  har- 
mony ; while  in  general  he  lacks  repose  and  indulges  in 
coarse  expression.  From  the  ugliness  of  his  infant  Christs 
one  has  hut  an  indifferent  idea  of  his  sympathy  for  babies. 
He  throws  intense  expression,  such  as  it  is,  into  the  feat- 
ures of  his  subject.  In  painting,  no  face  more  overflows 
with  sly  sensuality  and  obscene  humor  than  that  of  the 
monk,  half  squinting  at  the  spectator  from  the  group  of 
saints  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Virgin,  in  his  elaborate 
composition  of  the  “ Coronation.”  * Angels  with  him 
usually  are  vulgar  rogues.  His  pictorial  life  is  low,  hu- 
morous, tending  to  the  sensual,  impetuous,  lacking  refine- 
ment in  the  disposition  of  limbs,  and  he  has  but  a vague  idea 
of  the  proprieties  of  his  subjects.  The  external  world  and 
its  coarse  enjoyments  being  so  much  to  his  taste,  his  pictures 
could  not  wholly  escape  their  influence.  Religious  topics 
were  imposed  upon  him  by  his  patrons.  He  painted  be- 
cause his  active  talents  found  vent  thereby,  rather  than 
from  any  deep  understanding  of  the  dignity  and  meaning 
of  art  or  elevated  conception  of  the  subjects  given  him. 
Consequently,  while  he  often  surprises  by  vigor  and  nai- 
vete, he  rarely  inspires  lofty  emotion.  Always  strongly 
* No.  41,  Florentine  Academy. 


266 


FRA  DIAMANTE. 


naturalistic,  he  displays  a questionable  sort  of  love  of  the 
landscape,  associated,  doubtless,  in  his  mind  with  its  sense 
of  wild  freedom. 

His  best  works  are  the  frescoes  of  the  choir  of  the  Duomo 
at  Prato.  They  represent  the  histories  of  St.  Stephen  and 
St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  are  remarkable  for  vigorous  de- 
lineation of  character,  though  as  usual  with  him  having  but 
small  affinity  with  sacred  themes. 

By  will  he  made  his  pupil  Fra  Diamante  (born  1400) 
guardian  to  his  son  Filippino.  The  former  has  much  in 
common  in  style  with  his  master,  less  vigor  and  breadth, 
especially  in  drapery,  weaker  design,  but  with  a more  re- 
fined and  poetical  expression  and  a decided  fondness  for 
flowers.  Away  from  Florence  his  works  are  often  mistaken 
for  Fra  Filippo’s.  The  time  of  his  death  is  unknown. 

The  legitimate  successor  to  Fra  Filippo,  giving  to  paint- 
ing a further  impulse  in  the  same  direction,  but  with 
greater  variety  and  refinement,  was  Alesandro  Filipepi 
(1487— also  a Florentine.  When  a boy  he  mani- 
fested so  much  talent  that  bis  father,  entertaining  great 
hopes  of  his  future  eminence,  bestowed  much  attention 
upon  his  education.  But  being  capricious  and  extravagant, 
he  so  thwarted  his  parents  that  he  apprenticed  him  to  a 
goldsmith,  from  whom  he  derived  his  subsequent  name  — 
Sandro  Botticelli  — and  finally  the  profession  in  which  he 
distinguished  himself.  The  taste  and  knowledge  in  de- 
sign and  ornament  acquired  by  Botticelli  in  this  initiatory 
course  he  largely  infused  into  painting  and  engraving, 
which  latter  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  practise.  They  dis- 
ciplined his  hand  to  a beautiful,  firm  finish,  strength  of  out- 
line, and  a questionable  partiality  in  the  use  of  gold  in  hair, 
and  even  in  landscape  and  architecture,  to  give  greater  brill- 
iancy to  his  lights. 


BOTTICELLI. 


267 


He  passed  from  the  goldsmith’s  shop  into  the  studio  of 
Fra  Filippo,  in  which  he  soon  arose  to  distinction  on  the 
foundation  of  his  own  genius,  though  his  early  style  and 
coloring  had  much  in  common  with  those  of  his  master. 
There  is  no  reason  for  believing  that  he  participated  in  his 
vices,  although  like  him  he  was  impetuous  and  eccentric, 
and  had  in  his  nature  a grain  of  vagabondism.  Sandro 
was  a dry  joker,  a heedless  liver,  a spendthrift,  always  an- 
ticipating his  income,  in  his  prime  with  a sufficient  flow  of 
wit  to  ward  off  the  worst  effects  of  his  follies,  and  yet  so  in- 
clined to  abstraction  that  his  affairs  never  prospered.  He 
was,  however,  influenced  in  his  old  age  by  the  preaching  of 
Savonarola,  and  becoming  attached  to  his  party  destroyed 
whatever  of  his  art  came  under  the  ban  of  the  monk’s  strict 
purism.  Towards  the  close  of  his  life  he  was  reduced  to 
extreme  indigence.  Indeed,  he  would  have  starved,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  charity  of  Lorenzo  de’  Medici  and  after 
him  other  Florentine  gentlemen. ^ Even  this  humiliating 
resource  finally  failed.  One  morning,  no  one  knowing 
when  he  breathed  his  last,  he  was  found  dead  ; a wretched 
cessation  on  earth  of  great  talents,  which  with  better  habits 
would  have  secured  to  him  honorable  wealth. 

Botticelli’s  heads  are  touchingly  sweet,  with  a sort  of 
boding  sadness,  from  which  not  even  his  angels  or  his 
Ven uses  are  exempt,  and  which  is  very  noticeable  in  his 
Madonnas,  as  if  there  was  a pensive  misgiving  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  soul  as  to  his  own  manner  of  life.  His  faces 
lack  intellectual  force,  but  his  figures  have  wonderful  ten- 
derness and  grace,  with  a corresponding  dignity  and  power 
of  action.  He  is,  however,  extremely  unequal,  often  betrayed 
into  rigidity,  awkwardness, and  exaggeration,and  sometimes, 
in  his  smaller  pictures,  into  mannerism  and  even  absolute 
* Baldinucci,  vol.  i.  p.  569. 


268 


BOTTICELLI. 


ugliness.  Haste  and  carelessness  are  not  unfrequent. 
Many  of  his  paintings,  particularly  his  celebrated  “ Calum- 
ny ” of  the  Uffizi  Gallery,  want  repose,  and  too  strongly 
recall  the  craft  of  the  goldsmith.  Still,  not  excepting  his 
worst  manner,  he  is  singularly  attractive  from  his  vigorous, 
broad  sweep  of  pencil,  precision,  and  firmness,  and  the  simple 
refinement  of  many  of  his  minor  motives.  The  head  of 
his  Judith  in  his  small  picture  of  that  subject  in  the  Uffizi 
best  expresses  the  unrelenting  firmness  of  purpose,  exalta- 
tion of  motive,  mingled  with  a womanly  dread  of  blood,  of 
the  Jewish  maid,  of  any  treatment  of  the  subject  by  other 
pencils  that  we  have  seen.  The  distinction  of  character  he 
draws  between  the  servant  and  the  mistress  in  this  tragedy 
is  nicely  done ; as  a whole  it  is  much  superior  in  dramatic 
action  and  the  accessories  of  the  composition  to  Cristofano 
Allori’s  celebrated  picture,  which,  beside  it,  is  theatrical  and 
declamatory.  Botticelli’s  narrates  the  event  and  recalls  its 
emotions. 

In  coloring  he  is  in  general  weak,  adhering  to  the  Flor- 
entine tone  of  the  period ; at  times  delicate  and  sympa- 
thetic, and  never  low  or  sensual.  His  predilection  in 
composition  is  towards  the  fanciful  and  allegorical,  and 
he  evidently  prefers  mythology  and  history  to  purely  re- 
ligious topics.  The  nude  female  is  a favorite  subject, 
though  always  treated  with  perfect  chastity,  and  confined 
to  one  type,  of  exquisite  loveliness.  He  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  Masaccio,  then  in  fact  generally  adopted,  of  in- 
troducing into  sacred  compositions  the  portraits  and  cos- 
tumes of  his  time,  disregarding  historical  and  ideal  propri- 
eties by  making  contemporaries  figure  among  the  scenes 
and  mystical  ideas  that  underlie  Christianity.  In  his  “Ad- 
oration of  the  Magi  ” in  the  Uffizi,  the  king  kissing  the  feet 
of  Jesus  is  the  first  Cosmo  de’  Medici ; a son  of  his  and  a 


PIERO  DELLA  FRANCESCA. 


269 


relative  represent  the  other  two.  In  one  sense  paintings 
thus  composed  acquire  additional  interest,  but  one  quite 
apart  from  their  real  character.  This  species  of  innova- 
tion shortly  became  a fruitful  source  of  impious  flattery. 
Hireling  artists  represented  their  patrons,  not  as  formerly 
humbly  kneeling  in  devotional  attitudes  at  the  feet  of 
saints,  beseeching  their  intercession  for  the  good  gifts  of 
eternal  life,  or  doing  penance,  but  as  saints  themselves, 
with  all  their  symbolical  glory  and  signs  of  martyrdom,  on 
the  strength  of  a Christian  name  in  common.  Many  a 
scandalous  dame  in  dainty  array  and  jewelled  front  has 
come  down  to  us  the  incarnation  of  virtuous  self-sacrifice 
as  foreign  to  her  life  as  to  her  disposition ; and  we  surely 
may  be  permitted  to  laugh  over  the  silly  falsehood  that 
sought  to  pass  off'  an  aristocratic  cyprian  as  an  immaculate 
virgin,  or  bride  of  Heaven. # 

The  biblical  subjects  in  fresco  of  the  Sistine  chapel  at 
Rome,  done  by  Botticelli  about  1474,  fairly  illustrate  his 
good  and  bad  points.  His  pictures  are  not  uncommon  in 
galleries,  and  of  late  have  risen  much  in  public  esteem, 
which  they  well  merit  from  their  peculiar  individuality  and 
earnestness. 

Piero  della  Francesca,  of  San  Sepolcro  (1400-1494), 
more  akin  to  Paolo  Ucello  than  to  Masaccio,  especially  in 
his  choice  of  subjects  and  love  of  science,  was  a diligent 
student  and  an  artist  of  much  repute  in  his  day.  His  ex- 
ample and  attainments  did  much  to  form  the  growing 
schools  of  Umbria  and  Romagna,  their  best  men  like  him 
delighting  in  those  difficulties  of  foreshortening,  perspec- 

* The  mistresses  of  Allori,  Vanctyke,  and  others,  not  to  speak  of  the  wives 
and  daughters  — Rubens’s  for  one  — of  many  painters,  figure  as  their  Madon- 
nas. No.  232  of  the  Pitti  Gallery  is  catalogued  as  a “Holy  Family,”  though 
they  are  portraits  of  the  Grand  Duchess  Vittoria  della  Rovero  and  her  son,  af- 
terwards Cosmo  III.  de’  Medici,  by  Susterman. 


270 


VERROCCHIO. 


tive,  and  breadth  of  design,  which  were  then  the  chief 
novelties  and  problems  of  naturalistic  art.  Despite  his 
long  life,  there  is  little  left  by  which  to  judge  him.  His 
general  manner  is  hard,  without  much  feeling  for  color, 
more  for  form  and  a love  of  calm,  broad  landscape,  full  of 
light.  Some  of  his  heads  are  gracefully  felt.  His  best 
pieces  are  battles  and  historical  scenes,  vividly  done  and 
with  a close  observation  of  nature.  He  is  specially  noted 
for  his  studies  in  the  science  of  perspective. 

Piero  was  the  teacher  of  Luca  Signorelli  of  Cortona 
(144 1—1524),  who  with  Antonio  (1433—1498)  and  Pietro 
Pol laj nolo  (1443—1496)  and  Andrea  del  Verrocchio  (1432— 
1488)  of  Florence,  paid  close  attention  to  the  study  of  the 
nude,  which,  through  the  -growing  influence  of  sculpture, 
was  then  coming  more  into  esteem.  The  latter  three  were 
more  eminent  as  sculptors,  bronzists,  and  workers  in  metals, 
than  as  painters.  Verrocchio  numbered  among  his  pupils 
Perugino,  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  He 
painted  but  few  pictures,  which  Vasari  justly  calls  “hard 
and  crude,”  though  he  was  a diligent  student  and  acquired 
much  knowledge,  particularly  of  design.  His  best-known 
picture  is  his  “Baptism  of  Christ”  in  the  Florentine  Acad- 
emy, harsh  in  coloring,  bold  in  form,  and  mainly  interest- 
ing as  containing  the  angel  painted  by  the  youthful  Leo- 
nardo, the  sight  of  which,  so  surpassing  his  own,  caused 
Verrocchio  to  give  up  painting  and  confine  himself  to 
sculpture.  As  a boyish  effort  it  might  have  been  remark- 
able, but  except  graceful  feeling  it  lias  little  to  distin- 
guish it  from  its  companion.  The  influence  of  Verrocchio, 
in  the  character  of  his  landscape,  particularly  the  crystal- 
line blue  of  his  mountains,  and  their  sharp,  perpendicular 
lines,  may  be  traced  long  afterwards  in  the  paintings  of 
his  distinguished  pupils,  most  marked  of  all  in  Leonardo  s 


THE  BROTHERS  POLLAJUOLI. 


£71 


“ Vierge  aux  Rochers,’,  “ Leda,”  and  the  “ Holy  Family,” 
which  we  have  brought  to  this  country. * Although  Ver- 
rocchio went  to  Rome  expressly  to  study  the  antique,  the 
Florentine  bias  towards  severe  realism  always  prevailed  in 
his  style. 

The  brothers  Pollajuoli  are  of  greater  repute  in  painting. 
Like  Verrocchio,  they  learned  anatomy  direct  from  nature. 
He  took  casts  of  the  nude  to  assist  his  design,  but  Anto- 
nio Pollajuolo,  according  to  Lanzi,  was  the  first  Italian  ar- 
tist who  dissected  human  bodies  for  this  purpose.  Neither 
of  the  brothers  is  remarkable  for  copious  or  grand  inven- 
tion. They  are  scientists ; their  specialty  being  severe 
modelling,  strong,  sharp  outline,  and  a conspicuous  leaning 
towards  muscular  movement  and  display.  Piero,  however, 
has  tender  sentiment  and  graceful  conception,  with  a chaste 
taste  in  details,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  favorable  specimen 
of  the  Annunciation  he  has  left  us  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Miniato  al  Monte  that  overlooks  Florence,  and  the  same 
subject,  delightfully  treated,  catalogued  No.  7^  in  the  Ap- 
pendix to  this  work. 

Both  brothers  treat  landscape  after  the  broad,  open  man- 
ner of  Piero  della  Francesca,  introducing  into  it  no  little 
skill  of  perspective  for  their  time,  and  a multitude  of  in- 
teresting and  appropriate  details,  near  and  far  off,  showing 
a graphic  conception  of  the  variety  of  nature  and  the  laws 
of  distance,  with  an  accurate  eye  for  form  though  an  indiffer- 
ent feeling  for  color.  They  were,  perhaps,  more  eminent 
as  workers  in  metals  than  as  painters.  And  it  almost  in- 
variably happens  that  artists  who  combine  these  pursuits, 
bronzists  and  others,  in  their  paintings  show  a predilection 
for  tints  akin  to  those  of  the  metals  on  which  they  bestowed 
their  highest  skill  and  the  larger  portion  of  their  time. 

* See,  in  Appendix,  Documents  and  pi.  N,  figs.  40,  41. 


LUCA  SIGNORELLI. 


272 

But  in  that  fine  picture  in  the  Uffizi,  44  Saints  Jacobo,  Eusta- 
chio,  and  Vincenzo,”  the  tone  of  the  draperies  is  almost  Ve- 
netian in  warmth.  In  general  feeling  it  approaches  the 
firmness  and  precision  of  the  best  German  work,  and  is 
remarkable  for  its  deep  repose  and  quiet  dignity.  The 
labors  of  Hercules  and  mythological  subjects  at  large  were 
favorite  themes  with-  Antonio.*  Piero  painted  a St.  Chris- 
topher at  St.  Miniato  nearly  twenty  feet  high,  whose  colos- 
sal proportions  were  frequently  copied  by  Michel  Angelo 
when  a young  man.  Andrea  del  Castagno  instructed 
Piero  in  oil  painting.  But  at  this  date  and  later,  fresco 
continued  to  retain  its  ascendency  on  account  of  its  facilities 
for  rapid  and  grand  work.  Even  tempera  for  easel  pic- 
tures yielded  very  slowly  to  the  use  of  oils.  At  this  time 
fine  canvas  was  occasionally  employed  by  Florentine  artists 
for  tempera  paintings.  We  have  seen  a few  examples  of 
its  use  by  Ucello,  Gozzoli,  Botticelli,  and  Lorenzo  di  Credi, 
but  it  met  with  no  general  favor.  Beside  numerous  por 
traits  after  the  hard,  dry  manner  of  his  school,  Antonio 
painted  for  the  Pucci  family  the  celebrated  44  Death  of  St. 
Sebastian,”  bought  in  1857  for  the  National  Gallery  of 
London  for  the  sum  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  although  it 
had  suffered  greatly  from  injudicious  restorations.  The 
artist  received  for  it  only  three  hundred  dollars,  which  as 
was  said  at  the  time  did  not  pay  for  his  colors. 

Of  the  lineal  artistic  precursors  of  Michel  Angelo  the 
most  remarkable  is  Luca  Signorelli.  His  character  cor- 
responds  to  his  artistic  fame.  He  was  courteous,  warm- 
hearted, and  sincere ; an  earnest  man,  too ; liberally  in- 

* PI.  I,  fig.  26,  “ Hercules  destroying  Nessus,”  catalogued  in  the  Appen- 
dix, No.  75;  a favorable  specimen  of  this  rare  master,  showing  his  delicate 
precision  of  design,  which  the  engraving  does  no  justice  to,  and  his  character 
of  landscape,  which  is  quite  wonderful  for  the  date  of  the  picture.  The  back- 
ground is  the  Val  d’  Arno,  with  Florence  and  Prato  in  the  distance. 


27. 


■ 


LUCA  SIGNORELLI. 


278 


structing  others,  and  giving  away  his  designs  to  those  who 
could  benefit  by  them.  In  conversation  he  was  exceedingly 
amiable  and  fascinating.  Among  the  reminiscences  of  his 
early  boyhood  Vasari  recalls  a visit  of  the  venerable  Luca 
to  his  family  at  Arezzo,  and  relates  with  much  self-con- 
gratulation that  he  was  petted  by  this  distinguished  painter, 
who  blessed  him  and  predicted  his  career  in  the  same  hon- 
ored profession.  But  with  all  his  suavity  of  manner  he 
had  the  firmness  of  heart  of  a stoic.  His  son,  a promising 
youth,  having  been  killed,  he  ordered  the  corpse  to  be  laid 
naked  in  his  room,  where,  without  shedding  a tear  or  once 
leaving  it,  he  remained  until  he  had  sketched  a striking 
likeness  of  the  whole  body.  He  dressed  richly,  lived  mag- 
nificently, and  at  home  and  abroad  was  equally  held  in  high 
estimation. 

Like  others  of  his  peculiar  predilection  for  design  he  is 
not  strong  in  color.  Many  of  his  paintings  now  exhibit 
dark,  slaty,  or  disagreeable  brick  tints  in  his  flesh,  and  a 
want  of  harmony  and  naturalness  in  the  hues  of  his  land- 
scapes. Much  of  this,  however,  is  owing  to  chemical 
changes  in  his  coloring.  Some  of  his  paintings  compare 
in  harmony,  force,  and  richness  of  painting  with  the  best 
of  the  contemporary  Tuscans  or  Umbrians.  In  his  mo- 
tives and  forms  there  is  a wide  departure  from  preceding 
masters.  He  is  partial  to  the  nude  and  anatomical  design. 
Severity  and  grandeur,  with  a corresponding  dignity  of 
movement,  characterize  his  drawing.  In  perfection  of  ma- 
jestic repose,  or  fantastic,  vigorous  action,  Michel  Angelo 
himself  scarcely  excels  him.  Indeed,  he  did  not  disdain  to 
borrow  from  Signorelli’s  wonderful  composition  of  the 
“End  of  the  World,”  in  the  Orvieto  cathedral,  ideas  for 
his  own  “Last  Judgment.” 

O 

It  was  a strange  though  happy  choice,  that  an  artist  dil- 
ls 


LUCA.  SIGNORELLI. 


274 

fering  so  widely  from  Fra  Angelico  should  have  been 
selected  to  finish  painting  the  chapel  at  Orvieto  begun  by 
the  latter.  No  contrast  can  be  more  vivid.  Signorelli’s 
fertile  invention  of  condemning-  angels  and  demons  in  wild 
turmoil  snatching  their  human  prey,  with  fearful  struggle, 
frantic  gesture,  and  accumulated  agony  on  the  one  side, 
and  torturing,  terrible  beyond  utterance,  on  the  other,  the 
victims  of  God’s  wrath  being  plunged  headlong  into  un- 
quenchable flames,  vehement  in  action,  grouped  without 
confusion,  a vivid  variety,  power,  and  reality  animating  the 
whole  spectacle,  appalls  the  spectator.  Preceding  creations, 
being  monotonous  repetitions  of  Byzantine  inventions  or 
plagiarisms  from  Dante’s  forcible  imagery,  had  become  in- 
effective. Here  we  have  original  thought  with  an  intensi- 
fied diabolism  and  despair,  depending,  as  heretofore,  not 
on  mere  brutal  forms  for  horror,  as  with  Orgagna,  Spi- 
nello,  and  Fra  Angelico,  but  upon  the  action  and  expres- 
sion of  evil  spirits  whose  organisms  are  almost  human. 
Their  inventions  recognized  in  hell’s  demonology  distinct 
creations,  without  likeness  to  man,  and  as  far  removed  be- 
low him  in  the  power  and  ugliness  of  sin  as  heaven’s  hie- 
rarchy is  above  in  the  beauty  and  power  of  holiness.  But 
Signorelli  calls  up  out  of  their  everlasting  burnings  devils 
with  such  transformations  only  from  humanity’s  shape  as 
it  might  be  supposed  to  undergo  by  the  force  of  unchecked 
lusts,  passions,  and  despair.  Of  a verity,  his  are  God’s 
avenging  ministers  of  evil ; overflowing  with  wrath  and 
affright ; filled  with  the  violence  and  desire  of  wickedness ; 
men,  as  incarnated  devils  and  the  damned,  recognizing 
their  coming  likenesses  in  them  : such  is  his  idea  of  the 
inhabitants  of  hell. 

The  group  of  the  lustful,  satyr-eared  demon,  with  bat- 
wings  and  stunted,  crooked  horns,  the  embodiment  of  sen- 


LUCA  SIGNORELLI. 


£75 

suality  in  its  defiled  nakedness,  flying  as  rapid  as  light 
towards  hell,  holding  tightly  by  the  hands,  as  his  savory 
morsel  of  pleasure,  a beautiful,  adulterous  woman,  supported 
on  his  back,  said  to  be  the  likeness  of  a noted  courtesan 
of  the  time,  with  lust  glowing  in  every  feature,  while  her 
eyes  instinctively  turn  in  despairing  petition  towards  the 
archangels,  who  precipitate  devils  and  damned  headlong  to 
their  final  doom,  is  wondrously  conceived.  So,  too,  the 
gigantic  demon,  in  this  instance  without  any  of  the  cus- 
tomary diabolical  accessories,  simply  a naked,  powerful 
man,  drunk  with  the  spirit  of  murder,  standing  over  the 
prostrate  body  of  a naked,  licentious  woman,  with  one  foot 
upon  her  head,  holding  it  firmly  against  the  ground,  whilst 
with  both  hands  he  tightens  the  rope  about  her  neck  with 
which  he  strangles  her.  The  victim’s  starting  eyeballs, 
and  look  of  anguish,  more  even  of  mind  than  body,  are  a 
nightmare  of  horror. 

No  one  before  his  time  so  understanding^  grappled  with 
this  fearful  theme.  In  thoroughness  of  .knowledge  of  de- 
sign, and  perhaps  in  variety  and  vehemence,  Signorelli,  as 
is  to  be  expected  from  his  epoch,  must  yield  the  palm  to 
Michel  Angelo.  Like  him  he  has  deep  meaning  and  im- 
pressive grandeur ; while  he  escapes  his  peculiar,  though 
not  uniform,  exaggeration.  His  angels  are  remarkable  for 
graceful  strength  and  easy,  natural  flow  of  drapery,  espe- 
cially the  one  scattering  flowers,  part  of  a group  in  his 
Paradise  holding  a festival  with  the  elect. * But  his 
celestial  scenes  have  not  the  spiritual  atmosphere  which 
Fra  Angelico  alone  was  perfect  in.  The  artist  often  in- 
trudes upon  the  sentiment  by  the  lavish  display  of  his 
power,  although  between  him  and  his  subject  there  is  more 
unity  than  came  later  of  his  school,  j*  Signorelli’s  early 


* Agincourt,  p.  156. 

I Luca  Signorelli’s  frescoes  at  Orvieto  in  1845  gave  occasion  to  one  of  those 


27  6 


MATTEO  DA  SIENA. 


frescoes  in  the  Vatican  are  quite  Umbrian  in  their  charac- 
ter of  landscape,  for  which  in  general,  unlike  Michel  An- 
gelo, he  manifested  true  feeling.  64  The  Adoration  of  the 
Magi,”  # is  a beautiful  specimen  of  his  best  manner,  in 
perfect  condition,  deep  and  harmonious  in  color,  strong  and 
graceful  in  design,  admirably  grouped,  and  although  the 
picture  is  but  twelve  inches  by  sixteen,  it  contains  twenty- 
three  figures,  and  has  the  force,  clearness,  and  breadth  of 
fresco  painting. 

While  Florence  was  acquiring  so  brilliant  a reputation 
through  the  school  of  Masaccio,  Siena,  adhering  to  her 
primary  types  and  motives,  produced  no  artists  of  eminence 
in  the  new  manner.  Domenico,  the  nephew  of  Taddeo  di 
Bartolo,  in  1438  and  subsequent  years,  painted  at  first  in 
the  style  of  his  uncle,  but  later,  influenced  no  doubt  by  the 
Florentines,  became  more  dramatic  and  naturalistic.  He 
cannot,  however,  be  compared  with  them,  being  unharmoni- 
ous  in  composition,  though  his  horses  and  costumes  fur- 
nished studies  for  Pinturicchio  and  the  youthful  Raphael 
sixty  years  afterwards. 

The  technical  progress  which  is  suggested  by  the  works 
of  Giovanni  di  Paolo  was  more  fully  developed  by  his  son 
Matteo,  who  flourished  in  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  He  has  been  called  the  Masaccio  of  Siena,  an 
honor  deserved,  however,  only  by  contrast  with  those  imme- 
diately about  him  and  for  the  impulse  in  a kindred  direc- 
tion which,  though  late,  he  gave  to  the  artists  of  his  native 

art-loving  deeds  which  shows  the  power  of  these  silent  walls  over  kindred  feel- 
ing. Though  the  “ old  master  ” be  dead,  he  yet  speaks.  Two  artists  in 
their  travels,  — be  their  names  and  lineage  ever  kept  green,  — Botlie  and 
Pfauneschmidt,  Germans,  seeing  the  ruinous  and  neglected  condition  of  those 
paintings,  at  their  own  expense  and  with  their  own  hands  completely  cleaned 
and  restored  them,  as  a tribute  of  respect  and  admiration  to  their  author,  and 
so  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  inhabitants  that  they  were  made  honorary 
citizens  and  otherwise  distinguished. 

* PI.  I,  fig.  27. 


FUNGAI. 


277 


city  and  of  Naples,  substituting  in  both  cities  oil  for  tem- 
pera. In  general  he  is  hard  and  monotonous ; sharp  in 
outline,  inclining  to  the  precision  but  not  arriving  at  the 
truth  of  design  of  Mantegna,  with  more  dignity  than  grace, 
and  fond  of  architectural  ornamentation,  in  which  he  imitates 
Fi  ’ancesco  di  Giorgio.  Adhering  to  the  Sienese  taste  for 
flowers,  he  gives  good  relief  to  his  figures,  which,  though 
displaying  much  sameness  of  expression,  are  of  a pleasing 
type.  His  anatomical  knowledge  is  in  advance  of  his  breth- 
ren, but  his  range  of  thought  is  limited  and  his  invention 
meagre.  Indeed,  he  often  degenerates  into  mannerism  and 
in  straining  after  force  and  movement,  as  in  his  favorite 
subject,  “ The  Massacre  of  the  Innocents,”  arrives  at  ex- 
aggeration and  even  caricature.  There  is  much  truth  of 
pitiless  slaughter  in  his  masterpiece  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Agostino  at  Siena,  but  as  a whole  it  is  repulsive.  He  was 
equal  only  to  the  vulgar  cruelties  and  physical  agonies  of 
the  harrowing  spectacle,  repeated  and  distorted  to  the  verge 
of  dramatic  madness,  with  a leaden  tone  of  color  that  chills 
the  blood.  In  some  details  he  has  much  merit.  But  as 
he  is  the  sole  master  of  repute  of  his  day  at  Siena  who 
departed  widely  from  its  legitimate  succession  of  motives 
and  style  in  painting,  it  is  evident  that  there  existed  in  this 
school  no  hearty  sympathy  with  naturalism  as  in  Florence. 
Fungai,  who  painted  still  later,  can  scarcely  be  placed  in 
the  same  connection.  He  had  considerable  talent,  but  is 
conspicuous  chiefly  for  weakness  of  color  and  a confusion 
of  preceding  styles,  with  not  sufficient  original  power  to 
amalgamate  his  gleanings  from  others  into  a new  and  har- 
monious whole.  Though  if  the  Sienese  ever  indulged  in 
drollery  in  art,  he  might  be  accused  of  an  attempt  in  one 
of  his  pictures, # in  which  he  represents  the  infant  Christ 
* A Tondo  in  possession  of  Metzgher  and  Brothers  at  Florence. 


278 


COSIMO  ROSSELLI. 


atrociously  fat,  supported  by  angels  in  a way  anything  but 
seemly. 

Among  the  Florentine  naturalists  of  this  period,  though 
of  no  special  importance,  we  find  Alessio  Baldovinetti 
(1425—1499),  Franceso  Pesello  (1380-1457),  and  his  son 
Pesellino  (1426— 1457).  The  first  was  not  destitute  of 
religious  feeling,  hut  his  style  was  stiff  and  mannered.  His 
landscape  is  well  composed,  the  perspective  good,  broadly 
treated  in  its  great  lines  and  filled  with  carefully  sketched 
details  of  its  minor  features,  just  as  the  whole  was  seen  from 
his  familiar  points  of  view  about  Florence. 

Pesello  made  animals  a special  study,  keeping  live  ones 
in  his  house  to  draw  from.  Fra  Filippo  Lippi  was  the  mas- 
ter of  Pesellino.  His  style  is  vigorous,  outlines  sharply 
defined,  and  his  execution  highly  finished.  He  has  consid- 
erable variety  of  invention.  The  best  specimen  of  his 
powers  now  in  Florence  is  a gradino  in  the  Casa  Buona- 
rotti,  containing  stories  from  the  life  of  St.  Niccolo,  given 
with  much  animation  and  force. 

Cosimo  Rosselli  (1439-1506)  was  more  in  repute  as  an 
artist  than  the  preceding  names.  He  was  employed  on 
large  frescoes,  which  still  being  in  good  condition  keep 
alive  his  reputation.  At  times  he  is  dry  and  meagre ; at 
others  warm  and  varied,  with  some  poetical  feeling  and  con- 
siderable repose  of  manner.  In  general  his  compositions  are 
crowded,  with  no  effective  unity  or  well-placed  masses,  but 
they  display  considerable  skill  in  details,  graceful  female 
heads,  and  dignified  male  figures  in  the  picturesque  cos- 
tumes of  his  period.  He  is  not  without  a certain  mingled 
grandeur  and  sweetness  of  feeling  in  the  conception  of  the 
u Madonna  in  Glory.”*  His  best  work  is  the  “ Miracle  of 
the  Sacrament,”  a fresco  in  the  Church  of  St.  Ambrogio, 

* PI.  J,  fig.  29. 


PIERO  DI  COSIMO. 


279 


Florence.  Sixtus  VI.  called  him,  in  conjunction  with  Signo- 
relli and  other  distinguished  artists  to  Rome,  to  decorate  the 
Sistine  chapel.  Conscious  of  his  limited  powers  in  compar- 
ison with  his  rivals,  he  used  much  gold  in  the  ornamental 
parts  of  his  compositions  to  heighten  their  brilliancy,  hoping 
thereby  to  secure  for  them  in  the  untrained  eyes  of  the  pon- 
tiff the  preference  over  the  neighboring  frescoes.  The  ruse 
was  successful,  the  others  appearing  at  first  glance  cold  and 
meagre  beside  his,  which,  however,  in  real  genius  noways 
equalled  them.  Signorelli’s  topic  was  the  66  Life  of  Moses,” 
which  he  treated  with  much  grandeur  and  dignity,  leaving 
it,  however,  intellectually  cold,  as  if  his  thought  had  over- 
powered his  sentiment.  Rosselli’s  subjects  were  “ The 
Drowning  of  Pharoah,”  “ Christ  preaching  by  the  Sea 
of  Tiberias,”  and  the  “ Last  Supper.”  In  the  landscape 
of  the  second  he  was  assisted  by  Piero  di  Cosimo  (1441- 
15211),  his  pupil;  an  artist  of  greater  originality  and 
more  power. 

Piero  stands  quite  alone  in  style  and  humor ; being  bi- 
zarre, capricious,  fantastic,  inventive,  and  by  freaks  gloomy 
or  sprightly ; brilliant  and  delicate  in  color,  sensuous  in 
tone,  and  careless  or  careful  as  the  whim  seized  him.  In- 
deed, as  a whole  his  style  reminds  one  of  a musical  medley, 
in  which  feeling,  imagination,  and  reason  are  strangely  con- 
sorted, and  yet  not  unhaply,  subduing  criticism  and  exciting 
emotion  by  the  force  of  vagaries  and  contrasts  of  expression. 

He  was  as  strange  in  his  habits  as  original  in  his  art. 
After  the  death  of  his  master  he  gave  himself  up  to  the 
most  extraordinary  eccentricities,  detesting  society,  permit- 
ting no  one  to  see  him  work,  eating  like  an  animal  only 
when  hungry  and  in  solitude,  conforming  to  nature  as  he 
called  it,  not  allowing  his  garden  to  be  cultivated,  but  de- 
pending upon  what  spontaneously  grew,  and  in  so  many  and 


£80 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH. 


disagreeable  ways  manifesting  his  oddity  that  he  was  said 
to  be  more  beast  than  man.  He  took  pleasure  in  painting 
frightful  imagery  of  mortality;  deaths  and  all  sorts  of 
forbidding  fantasies ; bacchanals,  harpies,  satyrs,  and  mon- 
sters ; and  he  could  paint  angels  also  of  a certain  kind, 
with  a diligent  finish  imitated  from  Leonardo,  whose  style 
greatly  fascinated  him. 

Piero’s  fantastic  genius  found  special  employment  during 
carnivals.  One  of  his  extraordinary  inventions  is  thus  de- 
scribed by  Vasari.  The  spectacle  was  “ The  Triumph  of 
Death,”  and  it  took  the  citizens  by  surprise,  for  not  a suspi- 
cion of  its  character  had  got  abroad  until  it  was  completed 
and  in  their  midst. 

“ The  triumphal  Car  was  of  great  size,  covered  with 
black  cloth,  with  skeletons  and  white  crosses  painted  upon 
it,  and  drawn  by  hideous  black  buffaloes.  Within  it  stood 
a colossal  spectre  of  Death  with  his  scythe.  All  about 
him  were  covered  tombs,  which  opened  at  places  where 
the  procession  halted.  Those  forming  it  chanted  lugubri- 
ous songs,  while  certain  figures  disguised  as  skeletons  crept 
out  from  the  tombs.  Maskers  bearing  torches,  presenting 
before  and  behind  death’s  heads  and  skeleton  necks,  hor- 
ribly faithful  to  nature,  closed  around  the  car.  Trum- 
pets wailed  forth  doleful  moans,  at  whose  summons  the 
dead  came  out  of  their  tombs  and  sung  most  dismally, 

‘ Morti  scani,  come  vedete, 

Cosi  morte  vedren  voi : 

Fum mo  gici  come  voi  siete, 

Yo  sarete  come  noi/  &c. 

We  are  dead  as  you  behold  us, 

But  thus  dead  we  you  shall  see  ; 

We  were  once  as  you  are  now, 

But  you  soon  shall  be  as  we.”  * 

Before  and  behind  the  car  rode  a train  of  the  dead  on 

* Bohn’s  Yasari,  voi.  ii.  p.  418. 


CARNIVALS  AT  FLORENCE. 


£81 


the  most  wretched  and  leanest  horses,  half  dead  themselves 
and  caparisoned  in  black  with  white  crosses  upon  their 
cloths,  each  animal  conducted  by  four  attendants  clad  in 
grave  clothes,  bearing  black  torches  and  black  standards 
covered  with  crosses,  bones,  and  death’s  heads.  As  the 
entire  cortege  sung  in  dismal  unison  the  Miserere  of  Da- 
vid, all  the  spectators  were  filled  with  mingled  terror  and 
admiration. 

During  the  balmy  period  of  art  in  Florence  the  cele- 
bration of  carnivals  and  the  ceremonies  attending  public 
events  called  forth  the  fantastic  invention,  regardless  of  ex- 
pense, of  the  best  artists ; so  that  those  sights  acquired  an 
artistic  value  that  has  never  since  been  revived  in  Italy  or 
seen  elsewhere.  Indeed,  they  were  one  of  the  most  cher- 
ished institutions  of  the  land.  Nor  were  they  always 
conducted  with  a due  regard  to  propriety  and  humanity ; 
for  we  read  that  at  one  given  on  the  election  of  Leo  X. 
to  the  papacy,  a baker’s  lad  was  hired  for  ten  scudi  to 
represent  the  age  of  gold  reviving,  as  a naked  boy  cov- 
ered from  head  to  feet  with  gold-leaf.  So  great  were 
his  sufferings  that  as  the  procession  came  to  an  end  he 
died. 

Piero’s  religious  pictures  have  no  true  sentiment.  They 
are  artificial,  good  only  occasionally  in  heads  and  the  beauty 
and  variety  of  landscape  backgrounds.  With  nature  he 
had  real  sympathy,  besides  a taste  for  mythological  sub- 
jects of  a painful  character.  He  painted  animals  for  his 
time  with  much  freedom,  spirit,  and  knowledge  of  form. 
Sometimes  he  gives  to  his  figures  extremely  small  and 
delicately  drawn  feet  and  hands,  out  of  correct  propor- 
tion and  evidently  a caprice  of  refinement.  Many  of  his 
pictures  of  the  above  class  are  in  the  Uffizi,  unfortu- 
nately all  “refreshed”  by  the  same  hand,  hard  and  porce- 


282 


FILIPPINO  LIPPI. 


Iain-like,  to  the  utter  destruction  of  his  own  best  tones, 
and  that  “ morbidezza”  of  his  latest  style  — for  he  was 
constantly  changing — which  he  imparted  to  his  pupil 
Andrea  del  Sarto. 

To  the  last,  Piero  was  as  eccentric  as  ever ; more  repul- 
sively so,  for  finally  no  one  could  remain  with  him.  His 
diet  was  hard  eggs,  which  he  boiled  by  fifties  in  his  glue- 
pot,  eating  them  while  they  lasted,  whatever  might  be 
their  condition.  Death  by  the  hand  of  justice  he  prodig- 
iously commended,  saying  it  was  a fine  thing  to  be  led 
forth  to  die  in  the  clear,  bright,  open  air,  among  a crowd 
of  spectators,  comforted  with  sugar-plums  and  kind  words, 
and  the  people  praying  for  you  to  enter  Paradise  with  the 
angels.  His  religious  opinions  were  quite  as  novel  as  his 
habits  and  pictures,  and  so  upon  the  whole  we  must  con- 
sider him  an  uncomfortable  man  and  painter.  Indeed  he 
came  to  an  uncomfortable  ending,  for  he  was  found  dead 
one  morning  at  the  foot  of  a staircase,  where  he  had  fallen, 
no  one  bein^  able  to  tell  when  or  how. 

The  direct  successor  to  Fra  Filippo  and  Botticelli  is  the 
son  of  the  former,  Filippino,  (l^GO— 1505.)  With  less 
genius  than  either,  he  imbibed  from  both  much  of  their 
respective  styles,  which  he  ultimately  blended  into  an  inde- 
pendent manner,  introducing  into  his  pictures  a great  vari- 
ety of  ornamentation,  grotesque  and  otherwise,  particularly 
in  architecture  taken  from  classical  designs  and  the  antiqui- 
ties of  Rome.  This  manner,  with  flowers,  arms,  mantles, 
vases,  and  scroll-work,  in  fine,  a lavish  introduction  of  genre 
accessories  merely  for  rich  effect,  was  also  adopted  by  Squar- 
cione,  Mantegna,  Ghirlandajo,  and  others,  and  ultimately 
perfected  by  Raphael.  Frames  were  now  made  after  the 
designs  of  Roman  and  Grecian  architecture,  built  up  with 
heavy  cornices,  pediments,  pilasters,  and  base,  and  largely 


NEW  STYLES  OF  ORNAMENTATION. 


£83 


decorated  in  the  same  manner.  Within  legitimate  bounds 
die  innovation  was  pleasing.  It  arose  in  part  from  the  de- 
sire to  surround  sacred  personages  with  beautiful  and  sig- 
nificant objects,  and  partly,  as  the  spiritual  sentiment  died 
out,  to  substitute  something  whereby  to  amuse  the  intellect 
and  gratify  the  senses.  But  it  soon  degenerated  into  ex- 
cessive and  incongruous  ornamentation,  overburdening  the 
proper  motives  of  sacred  pictures  with  details  having 
nothing  in  common  with  them,  and  for  no  other  purpose 
than  as  displays  of  curious  handicraft  and  bizarre  taste. 
The  earlier  religious  masters  equally  delighted  in  ornament ; 
but  their  accessories  were  in  close  keeping  with  their  sub- 
jects. Now  the  popular  taste  had  begun  to  prefer  idle 
show  to  true  feeling.  In  its  worst  aspect  it  was  like  the 
shade  of  mouldy  paganism  creeping  out  of  its  tomb  to  cast 
a baleful  gleam  over  its  old  rival  and  conqueror,  Chris- 
tianity. What  had  swords  and  helmets,  cinerary  arms, 
banners  and  trophies,  togas  and  vases,  and  what  not  of 
fantastic,  grotesque  design,  — monsters,  satyrs,  and  fauns, 
the  sensual  imagery  of  defunct  heathendom,  its  poetry 
burned  to  ashes,  — what  had  such  things,  however  cunningly 
put  together  in  chiaroscuro,  gilding,  or  color,  to  do  with 
Madonnas,  Saints,  and  God  incarnated  I They  were  the 
voices  of  those  preaching  in  a wilderness,  whom  a great 
multitude  went  Out  to  see.  They  w^ere  the  signs  of  the  in- 
coming infidelity  and  its  attendant  vices  ; the  advancing 
tide  of  sensuality  which  naturalism  had  let  into  painting ; 
the  unpropitious  marriage  of  low  motives  to  high,  neglect- 
ful of  the  Master’s  injunction  to  render  unto  Caesar  the 
things  that  are  Caesar’s,  and  unto  God  the  things  that  are 
God’s.  By  this  censure  we  do  not  condemn  classical  art 
and  its  adjuncts,  nor  naturalism  with  its  dry  realism.  Each 
had  its  rightful  purpose  and  uses.  Each  is  a necessary 


FILIPPINO  LIPPI. 


284 

stone  in  the  building  of  the  temple  of  high  art.  For  hu- 
manity is  eclectic,  and  its  faculties  diverse ; and  all  require 
action,  that  the  whole  being  be  kept  in  healthful  energy. 
The  evil  of  one  thing  may  be  the  appropriate  good  of  an- 
other. In  art,  as  in  life,  it  is  requisite  to  keep  things  to 
their  rightful  uses  and  in  their  proper  relations,  in  order  to 
get  out  of  them  all  their  possible  good  and  delight. 

We  can,  therefore,  take  pleasure  after  their  kind  in  the 
mythological,  naturalistic,  and  decorative  fashions  of  this  pe- 
riod in  art,  esteeming  them  at  their  proper  relative  value  of 
motive.  And  though  the  practice  brought  into  vogue  by  Fil- 
ippino was  not  a happy  one  for  sacred  themes,  yet  there  is 
much  to  admire  in  his  executive  skill.  There  was  nothing 
low-minded  in  him  or  his  art.  He  was  greatly  beloved  by 
the  young  nobles  of  Florence  for  his  courtesy  and  amia- 
bility, and  much  in  request  at  festivals  on  account  of  his 
genial  disposition  and  talents  in  designing  amusing  specta- 
cles. The  stain  of  his  birth  and  the  vices  of  his  father 
were  forgotten  in  his  virtues,  for  they  conciliated  all  classes 
of  citizens.  He  lived  modestly  and  prudently,  and  died 
greatly  regretted  when  only  forty-five  years  old. 

His  pleasing  character  is  traceable  throughout  his  paint- 
ings. They  indicate  industry,  sincerity,  and  careful  study ; 
considerable  vigor  and  sweetness;  correct  design,  warmer 
coloring  than  his  teachers,  dignified  though  not  highly  ele- 
vated types  of  beauty,  and  in  general  a partiality  for  his- 
torical composition.  His  draperies  are  somewhat  cumber- 
some, though  his  action  is  lively  and  natural.  Having  to 
stand  the  closest  comparison  with  Masaccio,  whose  unfinished 
frescoes  lie  completed,  he  appears  to  less  advantage  than  he 
would,  were  his  works  completely  isolated,  while  his  propin- 
quity in  Sta.  Maria  Novella  to  Domenico  Ghirlandajo  sub- 
jects him  to  another  severe  test.  Still  he  well  holds  his 


FILIPPINO  LIPPI. 


28  5 


ground  as  being  a good  if  not  a great  master.  His  finest 
easel  picture  is  an  altar-piece  (1480)  in  the  Badia  Church 
at  Florence  ; the  “Madonna  appearing  to  St.  Bernard.”  It 
is  well  painted,  but  lacks  simplicity,  and  rises  to  no  ele- 
vated, spiritual  conception.  The  whole  scene  is  earthly, 
and  from  that  point  of  view  well  put.  None  of  this  class 
of  painters  soars  above  the  range  of  the  historical  and  natu- 
ral in  the  compositions  in  which  supernal  motives  predomi- 
nate. Eschewing  symbolism,  having  no  ecstatic  visions, 
they  take  firm  hold  of  fact  and  substance,  and  address 
themselves  successfully  to  the  common  understandings  and 
experiences  of  the  world,  more  desirous  of  pleasing  by  the 
accessories  of  their  art,  their  technical  skill,  and  their  real- 
istic thought,  than  of  stirring  the  soul  by  suggestions  of 
its  latent  destinies.  They  are,  however,  equally  removed 
from  the  empty  manual  dexterity,  that  entire  preponder- 
ance of  mere  external  form  and  muscular  movement,  which 
belongs  to  the  decadence  of  their  school.  For  although 
in  a religious  sense  their  works  may  not  be  classed  as  spir- 
itual, still  they  were  intensely  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
their  suhject-matter,  as  it  shaped  itself  in  their  minds. 
They  projected  their  souls  into  their  paintings,  governed 
by  the  science  of  art,  and  thus,  without  arriving  at  the  ec- 
static or  mystical,  which,  so  far  from  aspiring  to  it,  they  the 
rather  avoided,  they  became  vital  and  natural.  Spiritual 
in  the  sense  of  the  outpouring  of  feeling  into  form  they  in- 
deed were  ; eschewing,  if  not  from  piety,  at  all  events  from 
profounder  knowledge  and  deeper  insight  into  the  princi- 
ples and  purposes  of  art,  that  materialism  which  subse- 
quently, as  it  were,  alike  banished  God  and  nature  from  it. 
With  them  work  was  not  pronounced  u good  ” unless  it 
gave  evidence  of  a living  soul. 

We  now  come  to  one  who,  in  the  above  respects,  was 


2S6 


DOMENICO  GHIRLANDAJO. 


not  only  a great  master,  excelling  all  his  predecessors  since 
Masaccio,  and  developing  painting  technically  even  beyond 
him,  but  whose  intellect  was  capable  of  appropriately  con- 
ceiving, historically  treated  however,  the  loftier  view  of 
sacred  themes.  He  seldom  introduced  the  supernal  ele- 
ment into  his  compositions ; but  when  he  did,  it  is  elevated 
much  above  the  common,  with  a freshness  of  treatment  and 
fertility  of  invention  that  mark  a broad  mental  grasp.  This 
was  Domenico  Curradi  (1449— 1498),  a Florentine,  known 
as  Ghirlandajo,  from  the  fact  that  his  father,  who  was  a 
goldsmith,  was  famous  for  his  artificial  garlands,  once  for- 
bidden by  sumptuary  laws,  but  all  the  dearer  for  that  to 
his  fair  townswomen,  who  now  wore  them  with  impu- 
nity. Domenico  at  first  was  an  apprentice  to  his  father. 
But  while  in  the  shop  he  passed  his  time  in  so  admirably 
drawing  the  likenesses  of  his  neighbors  that  his  father 
placed  him  at  once  in  the  studio  of  Baldovinetti.  He  soon 
outgrew  his  teacher,  and  entered  upon  an  independent  ca- 
reer, characterized  by  great  refinement  and  intellectual 
force.  His  art,  like  Masaccio’s,  is  remarkably  free  from 
himself  as  an  individual.  It  is  the  pure  creation  of  his 
mind,  according  to  its  own  naturalistic  laws,  betraying  no 
secrets  of  the  man.  This  subjection  of  feeling  and  mental 
consciousness  to  art  in  the  abstract  is  extremely  rare,  and 
obtains  only  in  those  whose  faculties  are  well  balanced  and 
under  the  strict  guidance  of  reason.  Ghirlandajo’s  char- 
acters act  themselves,  and  not  him.  Irrespective  of  his 
own  sentiments,  he  fits  to  his  types  the  circumstances  of 
emotion,  action,  or  thought  proper  to  their  several  condi- 
tions of  being.  With  less  capacity,  Filippino  attempts  the 
same.  Literally  their  art  pertains  to  the  object,  reflects  its 
image,  vitalizes  it  with  its  appropriate  form  and  expression  ; 
hence  we  may  intelligently  term  it  objective,  in  distinction 


DOMENICO  GHIRLANDAJO.  28J 

from  the  more  common  expression  based  upon  the  opposite 
tendency  of  individual  feeling. 

Of  the  private  life  and  habits  of  Domenico  we  know  but 
little.  He  was  exceedingly  ambitious,  and  desirous  of  great 
undertakings,  holding  his  gains  as  of  little  account  in  com- 
parison with  the  honor  of  his  profession.  He  died  prema- 
turely, in  his  forty-fourth  year,  greatly  lamented  by  his  own 
kin,  and  by  citizens  and  strangers.  Brief  as  was  his  career, 
he  condensed  into  it  much  important  work.  His  easel  pic- 
tures, unfortunately  seldom  to  be  seen  intact,  are  not  uncom- 
mon. They  display  the  broad  manner  of  his  frescoes,  not, 
however,  upon  a par  with  them,  for  in  general  they  are 
crowded,  as  if  he  felt  the  want  of  material  space.  He 
loves  distant  views  of  the  sea  and  varied,  lively  back- 
grounds. His  Madonnas  are  dignified  and  matronly  and 
his  infant  Christs  graceful  and  attractive,  neither,  however, 
idealized  beyond  the  standard  of  the  best  specimens  of 
women  and  children  about  him.  In  general  his  taste  is 
severe  and  correct,  purely  Tuscan,  without  any  admixture 
of  the  classical  element.  He  was  perhaps  the  first  of  the 
great  Florentines  whose  innovation  upon  the  orthodox 
forms  of  religious  compositions  is  very  marked.  One  of 
his  figures  in  a sacred  scene  he  supplies  with  spectacles. 
At  times  there  is  too  palpable  a liking  for  striking  atti- 
tudes and  strong  movement ; not  inharmonious  of  them- 
selves, but  seemingly  got  up  as  exhibitions  of  peculiar  skill 
or  management  of  forms  and  draperies,  so  that  we  are  often 
more  struck  by  details  than  by  the  composition  as  a whole, 
and  are  thus  led  from  the  fundamental  motive  to  parts  or 
accessories.  Not  unfrequently,  the  most  attractive  figures  or 
groups  are  those  that  have  the  least  connection  with  the 
story ; introduced  alike  in  disregard  of  historical  propri- 


£88 


DOMENICO  GHIRLANDAJO. 


ety  and  artistic  unity.  Several  examples  of  this  weakening 
of  the  superior  by  the  force  of  the  inferior  motive  exist  in 
those  magnificent  frescoes  of  his,  in  the  choir  of  Sta.  Maria 
Novella,  of  the  Life  of  the  Virgin.  One  of  the  most  harmo- 
nious of  this  series  is  the  46  Visitation.”  Mary  and  Elizabeth 
are  noble  figures,  with  the  graceful  dignity  that  belongs  to 
high  breeding.  Their  Florentine  attendants,  beautiful  fe- 
males of  noble  families  clad  in  the  picturesque  costumes 
of  his  epoch,  are  admirably  and  symmetrically  grouped. 
Domenico  delights  in  aristocratic  women,  and  his  pencil 
evidently  has  a graphic  sympathy  with  noble  birth  and  man- 
ners. Even  his  waiting-maids  show  high  blood.  They  are 
always  ladies  and  by  providing  them  with  wings  and  length- 
ening their  full,  rich  draperies,  he  readily  transforms  them 
into  angels.  Not  such,  altogether,  as  would  have  been  ap- 
proved by  the  severe  sentiment  of  the  religious  masters,  but 
doubtless  quite  like  the  idea  of  angels  entertained  by  the  lov- 
ers of  the  women  themselves.  In  this  picture  his  landscape 
is  wonderfully  varied  and  attractive.  It  is  perhaps  his  best, 
leading  the  eye  over  a great  space  of  cultivated  country, 
and  suggesting  still  wider  expanse  and  beauty  by  a group 
of  men  who  are  leaning  upon  a wall  which  partly  intercepts 
the  view,  and  so  occupied  with  the  prospect  before  them  as 
to  turn  their  backs  upon  the  greeting  of  the  holy  women. 
In  the  incidental  introduction  of  motives  like  this  we  per- 
ceive one  of  the  chief  distinctions  in  feeling  between  natu- 
ralism. and  purism.  No  painter  of  the  latter  class  would 
have  ventured  upon  any  action  or  incident  not  strictly 
in  harmony  with  the  main  sentiment.  In  Ghirlandajo’s 
44  Birth  of  the  Virgin  ” and  44  Presentation  at  the  Tern- 
pie,”  of  the  same  series,  there  are  more  striking  incongru- 
ities, if  we  judge  them  from  the  mystic  point  of  view,  but 


■ 


. 


DOMENICO  GHIRLANDAJO. 


m 


if  from  the  purely  naturalistic,  we  may  consider  them  as  a 
species  of  by-play  introduced  to  add  animation  and  variety 
to  the  paintings. 

Domenico  was  called  to  Rome  to  paint  in  the  Sistine 
chapel  the  “ Resurrection,”  now  quite  ruined  by  time  and 
restorations.  His  most  important  works  are  the  “ Life  of 
St.  Francis  ” in  the  Church  of  Sta.  Trinita  at  Florence 
(1485),  the  series  already  referred  to  in  that  of  Sta.  Maria 
Novella,  and  his  last,  the  64  Death  of  Santa  Fine,”  in  a 
chapel  of  the  Duomo  at  San  Gimignano,  in  which  he  was 
assisted  by  his  son-in-law,  Bastiano  Minardi. 

These  compositions  adequately  represent  his  bias  and 
style.  He  introduces  architecture,  classical  ruins,  orna- 
mentation, and  chiaroscuro  figures,  using  gold  sparingly  for 
brilliancy  with  great  skill  and  effect.  In  proportions,  pic- 
turesque disposition  of  his  figures  and  masses,  broadly 
flowing  lines,  perspective,  and  animated  variety  in  action 
and  motive  he  is  admirable.  Then,  too,  he  ennobles  his 
personages  in  a material  sense,  just  as  Fra  Angelico  did  in 
a spiritual  point  of  view.  With  Ghirlandajo  we  are  always 
in  the  best  society.  His  taste  in  dress  is  not  the  least  of 
his  attractions.  The  coiffures  of  his  females  are  particu- 
larly pleasing.  Their  beauty  lies  chiefly  in  the  grace  with 
which  the  artist  disposes  their  well-drawn  folds  about  the 
heads  of  his  fair  portraits.  In  all  such  matters  he  is  inim- 
itable. Without  being  profound  he  is  always  natural  and 
pleasing.  It  is  seldom  that  he  probes  the  heart  for  its  in- 
most emotions,  for  he  is  content  to  picture  what  lies  more 
on  the  surface  of  life.  But  in  his  “ Death  of  Santa  Fine,” 
a strictly  historical  composition,  there  is  a touching  sim- 
plicity of  grief,  and  an  artless  arrangement  of  the  person- 
ages, each  perfectly  characteristic  and  individualistic,  with 

19 


290 


MINARDI. 


free,  dignified  action,  eloquent  emotion,  and  warmer  flesh 
tints  than  common. 

Perhaps  Ghirlandajo’s  strongest  predilection  was  tow- 
ards portraiture.  He  transforms  his  sacred  histories  into 
contemporary  events ; the  incidents  being  faithfully  re- 
corded, the  sacred  personages  ideally  rendered,  whilst  the 
spectacle  is  made  up  from  the  familiar  circumstances  of  his 
own  times.  Thus  it  happens  that  his  fellow-citizens,  in 
their  proper  likenesses  and  costumes  and  amid  their  own 
civic  or  domestic  life,  so  conspicuously  figure  in  his  sacred 
compositions.  He  is  exceedingly  happy  in  rendering  mental 
character.  His  portraits  are  quiet,  dignified  witnesses  of  the 
sacred  mysteries,  having  no  direct  reference  to  them,  but 
introduced  probably  from  patriotic  desire  to  connect  the 
greatness  and  beauty  of  his  native  city  with  the  glory  and 
holiness  of  religion.  They  stand  in  detached  groups,  and 
from  whatever  motive  introduced,  they  now  are  an  interest- 
ing historical  record.  Among  them  we  distinguish  Ag- 
nolo Poliziano,  several  of  the  Tornabuoni,  and  other  emi- 
nent citizens  and  among  many  fair  ladies  of  Florence, 
the  celebrated  beauty,  Ginevra  de  Benci,  whose  portrait 
Leonardo  also  painted.  One  of  his  earlier  frescoes  in  the 
church  of  the  Ogni  Santi,  in  a chapel  of  the  Vespucci  fam- 
ily, the  subject  a Misericordia,  contained  the  portrait  of  the 
Amerigo,  who  gave  his  name  to  our  continent.  In  1616 
it  disappeared  under  a coat  of  whitewash.  David  and  Bene- 
detto, the  brothers  of  Domenico,  were  painters  likewise, 
chiefly  as  assistants  to  him,  and  although  clever  do  not  call 
for  more  particular  mention. 

Domenico’s  favorite  pupil  was  Minardi,  whom  he  distin- 
guished by  painting  his  portrait  as  the  youngest  and  hand- 
somest of  the  three  Magi.  He  imitated  Ghirlandajo,  was 


SAN  GIMIGNANO. 


291 


weak  in  color,  heavy  in  design,  but  with  a decidedly  devo- 
tional feeling.  Few  of  his  pictures  are  preserved.  In 
company  with  Domenico  he  worked  in  that  quaint  old 
town,  San  Gimignano,  which,  with  its  lofty,  frowning 
towers,  castellated  walls,  venerable  cathedral,  and  medi- 
aeval palaces,  so  haughtily  perched  on  its  mountain  site ; 
its  dormant  streets,  and  stern,  ascetic  isolation,  carries 
the  traveller  vividly  back  to  the  times  of  the  belliger- 
ent republics  ; — times  when,  mortal  enemies  within  eye- 
glance  on  every  side,  each  citizen’s  daily  duty  was  to 
guard,  to  fight,  and  to  pray.  It  is  rich  in  the  remains  of 
olden  art,  for,  small  as  it  ever  was,  it  had  a large  heart  and 
a cultivated  taste.  The  venerable  Duoirio  is  still  alive  with 
the  memories  of  Simone  Martini,  Taddeo  di  Bartolo,  Be- 
nozzo  Gozzoli,  and  Domenico  Ghirlandajo,  beside  a host  of 
lesser  artists,  all  of  whom,  in  this  retired  spot,  with  but 
few  witnesses  of  their  labors,  worked  with  the  same  con- 
scientious regard  to  religion  and  art  as  they  did  in  the 
capitals  of  Italy  with  the  world  looking  on.  Though  San 
Gimignano  is  time-battered,  decrepit  and  poverty-stricken, 
it  still  breasts  modernism  with  a brave  front,  warning 
off'  all  innovation  on  its  antiquity  ; content  to  exist  as  a 
relic  of  the  Past  and  a shrine  of  religious  art  by  which 
the  outside  world  may  yet  profit. 


CHAPTER  X. 


Byzantine  and  Mediaeval  Landscape  Art.  Classical,  Chinese,  and  Indian. 
Analog}7-  between  them.  Character  and  Degree  of  its  Progress  in  Italy. 
The  qualities  of  Modern  Landscape.  Note  on  Giovanni  Sanzio’s  Poem  on 
Art.  Special  Successes  of  the  Old  Masters.  Masterly  Treatment  of  the 
Landscape  by  Titian  and  Correggio.  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  1370-1450,  the 
Sensuous.  His  Landscape.  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  1424-1485.  His  Campo  Santo 
Frescoes.  Pinturicchio,  1454-1515.  His  Frescoes  at  Siena.  Assisted  by 
Designs  of  Paphael. 


It  was  not  until  naturalism  bad  taken  root  in  Italian 
painting  that  the  landscape  began  to  be  cultivated,  and 
then  only  as  an  accessory  to  superior  motives.  Indeed, 
while  gold  backgrounds  lasted  it  could  have  no  legiti- 
mate being.  Distance,  aerial  effects,  and  perspective  were 
incompatible  with  metallic  surfaces  and  reflected  lights. 
Fresco  painting  in  some  degree  admitted  of  landscape,  from 
its  peculiar  properties  of  light  and  color,  which  often  sug- 
gested distance  and  aerial  perspective,  when  even  they  were 
not  technically  sought  for  or  understood.  We  commonly 
find  that  while  the  Giotteschi  profusely  introduced  into  paint- 
ing architecture  with  rich  meaning  and  from  direct  study, 
the  landscape  continued  to  retain  the  same  hard,  conven- 
tional aspect  which  it  had  in  Byzantine  art,  and  which,  in 
turn,  it  had  inherited  from  classical  painting.  The  inatten- 
tion or  ignorance  of  all  nations  in  this  department  seems 
to  have  generated  like  results.  There  is  a striking  re- 
semblance between  the  style  of  landscape  in  Japanese 
and  Chinese  art  and  the  frescoes  and  mosaics  of  Greece 
and  Rome.  In  each,  the  same  absence  of  perspective 


ORIENTAL  LANDSCAPE. 


£93 


and  proportion,  like  truncated  mountains,  monotonous 
rocks,  and  impossible  vegetation;  in  fine,  the  suggestion 
and  not  the  semblance  of  things.  Rarely  in  classical 
art  do  we  perceive  any  indications  of  a better  under- 
standing of  the  features  of  the  landscape. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  Byzantines.  Their  mountains, 
broken  up  by  glacier-like  chasms,  are  heavy,  hard,  dark- 
brown  masses,  of  which  rocks  are  titanesque  fragments, 
stones  irregular  circles,  the  ground  a simple  preparation 
of  pure  green  or  pale  brown,  and  vegetation  rootless, 
shapeless  spots  of  simple  colors,  the  whole  without  per- 
spective or  foreshortening,  as  flat  as  can  be,  affording 
no  adequate  foothold  for  the  figures,  which  threaten  to 
pitch  forward  from  their  treacherous  foundations  or  to  be 
overwhelmed  by  them.  Nothing  short  of  the  design  of 
mere  savages  can  be  ruder.  Now  and  then  there  is  a 
slight  escape  from  this  uniform  impotence,  more  in  mo- 
tive than  execution,  in  the  lavish  and  loving  introduction 
of  flowers  in  the  foreground,  done  with  minute  care, 
and  evidently  copied  from  nature,  — a practice  seldom 
indulged  in  hy  the  Giotteschi,  but  very  popular  among 
the  naturalistic  painters  in  progressive  excellence,  until 
it  reached  its  most  finished  and  attractive  aspect  at  the 
hands  of  Raphael  and  his  contemporaries.  So,  too,  in 
rare  instances,  there  are  indications,  as  in  a Triptych  of 
the  twelfth  century  containing  the  64  Wanderings  of  the 
Israelites  in  the  Wilderness,”  of  a feeling  for  perspective 
and  effects  attainable  only  through  gradations  of  color, 
correct  proportions,  and  the  substitution  of  a painted  sky 
for  the  golden  background,  which  is  retained  in  the  re- 
maining compositions  of  this  beautiful  and  curious  speci- 
men of  Byzantine  art.* 

* PI.  A,  fig.  1,  the  part  referred  to  is  not  produced  in  the  engraving. 


£94 


MEDIAEVAL  LANDSCAPE. 


As  Giotto  received  landscape  so  he  transmitted  it 
through  his  entire  succession,  excepting,  if  we  credit 
contemporary  critics,  Stefano  and  in  some  degree  Antonio 
Veneziano  and  the  Lorenzetti,  who  were  in  advance  of 
their  brethren.  But  there  was  no  general  improvement 
until  Masolino,  Masaccio,  and  their  contemporaries,  though 
with  some  lingering  touches  of  the  past,  did  away  finally 
with  golden  skies,  and  began  to  substitute  scientific  prog- 
ress for  conventional  forms.  Their  immediate  advance 
was  in  perspective,  and  their  preference  ran  to  architec- 
ture. Yet  there  were  artists  like  Gentile  da  Fabriano, 
who  continued  the  partial  use  of  gold  in  his  backgrounds 
with  some  discrimination,  as  in  the  gradino  of  his  “Epiph- 
any” in  the  Florentine  Academy,  where  we  see  the 
sun  in  golden  relief  throwing  rays  of  light  of  the  same 
material  on  the  distant  hill-tops,  illuminating  the  land- 
scape with  great  brilliancy.  But  more  correct  principles 
soon  prevailed,  although  Botticelli  and  others  continued 
occasionally  to  use  it  in  hair,  vegetation,  and  architecture ; 
and  it  was  not  until  almost  a century  later  that  in  glo- 
ries, as  with  the  rest  of  high  lights,  it  was  wholly  super- 
seded by  color. 

Classical  art  never  had  any  landscape  proper.  Pagan- 
ism with  all  its  spirit  of  pantheism  was  dead  to  the 
beauty  of  the  natural  world.  Even  Christianity  was 
slow  in  taking  note  of  its  manifold  attractions.  Indeed,  as 
long  as  theology  swayed  art,  the  love  of  the  landscape 
was  as  foreign  to  Christian  as  to  Pagan  taste,  and  its  man- 
ifestations were  equally  crude  in  both.  When,  however, 
naturalistic  progress  began,  art  commenced  to  associate 
with  its  higher  forms  the  profusion  and  variety  of  the 
inferior  world,  that  so  lavishly  lay  open  to  its  choice. 
Thus  it  happened  that  a love  of  the  landscape  for  its 


MEDIEVAL  NATURE. 


295 


own  sake  was  gradually  induced  by  the  appropriate  con- 
nection first  established  by  the  more  religious  artists 
between  the  beautiful  things  of  nature  in  a symbolical 
sense  and  the  divine  expressions  of  sentiment  in  human 
or  celestial  form.  From  this  it  was  but  a step  for 
art  to  seize  upon  the  landscape  world  as  a special 
domain,  and  to  depict  its  features  from  love  of  it 
as  being  with  man  a portion  of  the  common  gift  of 
Creation.  But  under  its  best  auspices  in  Italy  it  has 
always  remained  in  the  popular  taste  in  a subordi- 
nate position  to  the  human  figure.  Indeed  this  is  its 

correct  position,  and  in  America  we  shall  never  know 
what  high  art  is  until  we  lose  our  exclusive  fondness 
for  the  landscape.  Nevertheless  the  prevailing  deadness 
of  the  southern  eye  to  the  beauties  of  scenery  seems  the 
more  strange  to  the  northern  mind  inasmuch  as  nature 
everywhere  invites  to  out-of-door  life. 

The  first  objects  to  benefit  by  the  new  study  of  nature 
were  the  smallest  details  and  the  broad  masses  of  light  and 
general  lines  of  the  landscape.  Rocks  and  hills  continued 
to  retain  much  of  their  crude  appearance.  Especially, 
however,  was  the  sky  beautifully  treated  by  the  earlier 
masters  of  this  bias,  it  being  finely  graduated  from  the 
zenith  to  the  horizon  in  clear,  natural,  luminous  tones  of 
mingled  blue  and  gray  ; shadowless  it  is  true  and  with 
scarcely  any  suggestion  of  those  infinite  mysteries  and  dis- 
closures of  light  and  shade  with  which  nature  veils  her 
works,  and  which  are  at  once  the  aim,  and  despair  of  modern 
landscapists  ; but  instead  it  was  full  of  solemn  quietude.* 

* In  this  relation  the  following  quotation  from  a poem  by  Giovanni  Sanzio, 
the  father  of  Raphael,  is  not  without  interest,  as  showing  both  the  despair  of 
the  “ quatrocentiste  ” painters  in  rendering  that  truth  of  nature  which  is  the 
aim,  and  to  a certain  degree  success,  of  our  best  landscapists,  and  the  scien- 
tific problems  of  perspective,  of  foreshortening,  &c.,  so  difficult  to  the  old 


29  6 


GIOVANNI  SANZIO’S  POEM. 


Motion,  the  forms  of  nature,  the  wondrous  diversity  of 
her  unity,  distance  gradually  melting  into  infinity,  and  suf- 
fused with  golden  and  purple  mists,  or  the  silvery  noon- 
tide sheen,  and  its  quivering  stillness,  the  inner  sense  of 
the  landscape,  with  its  universal  heart,  the  mother  of  all 
matter,  were  unattempted  ; or  if  essayed,  only  in  sugges- 
tive, broken,  sharply  defined  masses  and  lines,  analogous 
to  the  stammering  speech  of  a child.  Water  was  simply 


masters,  and  which  hounded  their  horizon  of  technical  progress,  though  so  famil- 
iar to  every  tyro  in  art  of  this  age.  The  poem  is  rendered  into  English  by 
James  Dennistoun,  Appendix  14,  vol.  ii.,  of  his  Memoirs  of  the  Dukes  of 
Urbino.  It  is  a “ Rhyming  Chronicle  ” introducing  a disquisition  on  the 
Painters  and  Painting  of  Sanzio’s  contemporaries,  and  he  gives  the  highest 
praise  to  one  whose  influence  on  his  own  earlier  works  is  just  perceptible. 

“ Great  the  delight  it  gave  him  to  admire 
Mantegna’s  wondrous  paintings,  splendid  proofs 
Of  his  high  genius.  * * For  than  his 
No  brighter  banner  waves,  no  name  more  known, 

Even  of  our  glorious  age.  None  is  found 
In  Italy  or  elsewhere,  who  so  blends 
Art’s  many  integrals  in  one  fair  whole,”  etc. 

The  part  relating  to  the  landscape  reads  thus  : — 

“ Of  painting  (Perspective)  ’tis 
Essential  part,  invention  of  our  age. 

He  who  the  subject  fully  comprehends 
May  then  detect  a barrier  overcome, 

And  find  an  added  grace.  Where  is  the  man 
Can  counterfeit  the  ruby’s  brilliant  tint, 

Or  feign  its  splendor  ? Whose  the  skill 
To  paint  a sunrise,  or  to  imitate 
The  flowery  herbage  from  a grassy  bank 
Reflected  in  the  lucid  stream  1 Or  who 
Can  fashion  beauteous  nature’s  budding  rose, 

And  snow-white  lily  ? Vain  such  efforts  all ! 

Yet  painting  may  deceive  the  sense,  and  show 
A surface  flat,  in  many  places  upheaved, 

Till  duly  ordered  distance  is  expressed,”  etc. 

It  is  but  fair  to  state  that  Sanzio’s  verses  are  ruder  than  his  pictures.  Both, 
however,  portray  a thoughtful,  refined  mind. 


MEDIAEVAL  LANDSCAPE. 


297 


a glassy  surface  of  low-toned  color  with  mathematically  cal- 
culated reflections,  or  with  monotonous  ripples  and  gum- 
elastic  waves.  Trees  stood  stiffly  straight,  accurately  poised 
hut  rootless,  on  the  earth,  which  had  in  it  no  nutriment  for 
them,  and  ready  to  tumble  over  upon  the  faintest  jar.  Fore- 
shortening was  still  very  imperfect.  But  it  is  unnecessary 
to  point  out  more  extensively  what  is  obvious  at  a glance. 
Landscape,  although  gradually  developing,  had  in  the  present 
period  no  independent,  distinct  existence,  and  was  cultivated 
only  in  reference  to  other  motives.  Its  most  obvious  feat- 
ures were  imitated,  improving  slowly  in  the  progress  of 
design  and  knowledge  of  color.  The  love  and  comprehen- 
siveness of  the  modern  mind  in  this  respect  are  widely 
different  from  the  feeling  of  the  fourteenth,  fifteenth,  and 
sixteenth  centuries.  Yet  the  old  masters,  by  their  calm, 
elevated  conception  of  the  general  phenomena  of  nature, 
and  their  sympathy  with  animal  life,  harmoniously  subduing 
both  to  the  loftier  spirit  of  their  themes,  often  succeed  in 
producing  more  pleasurable  and  deeper  emotions  than  obtain 
in  most  modern  art.  They  now  began  to  let  the  eye  rove 
over  wide  expanses  of  country,  diversified  with  hills,  val- 
leys, and  plains,  rivers  winding  through  them,  towns,  ham- 
lets, groves,  roads,  and  bridges,  clear  skies  and  peaceful 
prospects,  picturesquely  and  at  times  quaintly  composed ; 
cities  and  houses  in  brilliant  red  or  delicate  pink,  seemingly 
for  the  pleasure  taken  in  those  colors,  while  the  foregrounds 
abound  with  minute  objects  delineated  with  a fidelity  and 
beauty  that  wins  for  them  the  admiration  even  of  our  crit- 
ical age.  In  Paolo  Ucello,  Piero  della  Francesca,  and  Fra 
Filippo  we  trace  a close  observation  and  careful  study  of 
animal  traits  and  many  of  the  features  of  the  landscape, 
with  the  interblending  of  technical  error,  which  marks  a 
transition  and  growing  period.  There  was,  however,  no 


298 


GENTILE  DA  FABRIANO. 


perfect  development  of  it  until  the  masterly  witchery  of 
color  of  Titian  and  Correggio,  united  to  their  force  of  de- 
sign and  penetration  into  the  secrets  of  its  effects,  gave  to 
it  a beauty  and  dignity  as  a whole  which  still  remain  mar- 
vels of  artistic  success. 

A century  before  them  there  was  an  artist  whose  delight 
in  nature  was  equal  to  theirs,  with  a like  delight  in  color, 
and,  for  his  time,  as  much  skill  in  its  use.  Indeed,  Gen- 
tile da  Fabriano  in  this  respect  was  the  precursor  of  the 
Venetian  school,  and,  next  to  Raphael,  the  pride  of  his  na- 
tive Umbria.  He  was  born  about  1370,  and  lived  upwards 
of  eighty  years,  enriched  by  means  of  his  profession,  and 
held  in  great  honor  to  the  last  of  his  long  career.  Very 
few  of  his  numerous  paintings  now  exist,  and  very  little 
personal  information  in  regard  to  him  has  descended  to  us. 
He  is  reported  to  have  written  a work  on  art.  But  his 
pictures  are  an  autobiography  in  themselves.  As  Michel 
Angelo  truly  said  of  them,  they  assimilate  with  his  name, 
and  when  we  regard  them,  Gentile  himself  appears  to  us  as 
the  embodiment  of  the  chivalry  and  beauty  of  life.  Re- 
fined, sensuous  joy,  noble  manners,  in  delicacy  and  purity 
equal  to  Fra  Angelico,  hut  without  a grain  of  asceticism 
or  attempt  at  spirituality  in  the  sense  of  the  latter,  more 
ease  and  animation,  great  warmth  of  color,  always  cheerful 
and  serene,  sympathizing  with  the  true  and  beautiful  in  na- 
ture, drawing  forth  her  smiles,  having  a virtuous  faith  in 
the  good  things  of  earth,  — these  are  some  of  the  attributes 
which  give  to  his  pictures  the  flavor  of  a terrestrial  para- 
dise. Happily  uniting  the  sensuousness  of  Greek  art  with 
the  purity  of  Christian  feeling,  the  result  was  a poetical  at- 
mosphere alike  free  from  sensuality  and  mysticism. 

Gentile’s  fancy  is  singularly  rich,  inventive,  and  melo- 
dramatic. He  touches  nothing,  however  commonplace  in 


gentile’s  landscape. 


299 


itself,  but  to  inspire  it  with  the  spirit  of  life  and  beauty. 
Castagno  makes  existence  serious  and  suffering.  Gentile 
vitalizes  it  with  manifold  charms,  which,  giving  a glow  of 
joy  to  all  he  depicts,  exhilarate  our  senses  like  the  melo- 
dies of  noble  music.  Of  his  chief  composition,  the  64  Ado- 
ration of  the  Magi,”  in  1 84^6  Lord  Lindsay  remarks  44  The 
coloring-  has  much  faded.”  Alas ! cruel  hands  have  since 
invaded  with  remorseless  brush  the  rich,  delicate,  well-har- 
monized tints  that  characterized  Gentile’s  virgin  touch,  and 
replaced  them  in  great  part  by  tones  not  properly  his ; 
hard  and  opaque,  but  attractive  to  the  uneducated  eye  from 
their  brightness  and  newness.*  Some  of  the  smaller  pic- 
tures above,  those  grand  prophets  and  fairy-like  angels, 
and  the  predella,  have  partially  escaped  this  barbarism,  and 
also  the  fruits  and  flowers  on  the  sides,  which  he  was  wont 
to  paint  as  with  the  hand  of  nature  herself,  and  with  a 
truthful  fondness  that  makes  one’s  heart  leap  towards  him. 

The  landscape  of  this  picture  is  filled  with  everything 
pleasant  to  gaze  upon.  A magnificent  sweep  of  sunlit 
hills  and  distant,  peaceful  sea,  whitened  by  the  sails  of 
commerce,  flourishing  cities,  and  signs  of  stirring,  pros- 
perous life,  occupy  the  background.  Far  off'  begins  the 
journey  of  the  Magi,  whose  retinue  winds  among  forests, 
flowers,  trees  laden  with  luscious  fruits,  a country  literally 
overflowing  with  44  milk  and  honey,”  until  it  reaches  the 
foreground,  where  the  kings  dismount  before  the  Virgin 
mother  to  offer  their  gifts  and  to  worship.  They  have 
come  in  truly  royal  guise,  as  Christian  knights,  bringing 
with  them  even  those  mediaeval  appendages  of  rank,  dwarfs, 
monkeys,  and  dogs,  horses  magnificently  caparisoned,  a 


* The  companion  altar-piece,  by  Era  Angelico,  the  “Descent  from  the 
Cross,”  a noble  composition,  has  experienced  even  worse  treatment.  It  now 
shines  forth  in  all  the  cold  glitter  and  polish  of  decorated  coach-panelling. 


300 


GENTILE  S WOMEN. 


train  of  animals  laden  with  presents,  and  comely  young 
men.  But  the  eye  centres  on  those  handsome  kings,  re- 
splendent in  attire,  whose  pride  of  rank  and  condition  fits 
them  most  gracefully,  and  whose  countenances  as  they  adore 
the  infant  Saviour  are  lighted  up  as  by  a prophetic  con- 
sciousness of  the  incoming  triumph  of  the  new  faith  thus 
ushered  upon  earth  through  the  instrumentality  of  heaven. 
Their  attendants  gaze  curiously  upon  the  spectacle,  half 
wondering  at  the  homage  done  by  the  great  and  wise  to  a 
poverty-born  babe,  and  yet  awed  by  the  sympathy  which 
makes  even  the  brutes  acknowledge  their  Lord,  and  the 
very  stars  of  heaven  to  be  obedient  guides  to  the  humble 
spot  where  the  manger-cradle  held  the  Son  of  God.  Like 
Simone  Martini,  a kindred  spirit,  he  bestows  upon  the  Ma- 
donna a train  of  lovely  females.  Sacred  tradition  calls  one 
of  these  Mary  Salome ; she  who  waited  upon  the  Virgin 
at  the  birth  of  her  divine  son,  and  vowed  to  attend  upon 
them  both  as  long  as  either  lived. 

All  Gentile’s  women  are  chastely  beautiful ; fascinating 
without  allurements  to  the  grosser  senses,  healthfully  and 
perfectly  organized,  not  afraid  of  their  own  instincts,  hav- 
ing no  need  of  penance,  pure  and  happy,  fit  companions  for 
his  noble  men ; both  sexes,  such  as  we  can  imagine  human 
beings  might  be,  whose  lives,  untarnished  by  inherited  vice 
or  disease,  are  strictly  consistent  with  the  laws  of  Provi- 
dence. 

Gentile  is  lavish  of  ornament,  prodigal  in  gold,  pure, 
brilliant,  and  sweet  in  color,  and  strong  also,  using  it  with 
meaning,  and  in  every  touch  showing  a susceptible  and 
highly  cultivated  nature.  Modern  taste  and  practice  in  pig- 
ments condemns  much  of  his  style.  But  its  picturesqueness 
and  geniality  are  most  winsome.  Yet  the  influence  of  the 
Giotteschi,  in  his  long,  narrow  eyes  and  other  peculiarities 


GENTILE  AT  VENICE. 


301 


of  design,  is  perceptible,  and  natural  also,  for  he  was  edu- 
cated by  them.  His  types  of  characters  are  wholly  ideal. 
There  is  no  attempt  at  portraiture.  His  Madonnas  are 
slightly  weak,  hut  they  are  endowed  with  the  same  graceful 
sweetness  which  belongs  to  the  earlier  ones  of  Raphael. 
Indeed  Raphael  borrowed  somewhat  from  Gentile,  for  he 
was  greatly  fascinated  by  him,  and  when  a youth  went  ex- 
pressly to  Fabriano  to  study  his  “ Coronation  of  the  Vir- 

• 5 J 

gm. 

In  1418  Gentile  was  at  Venice,  where  he  painted  a his- 
torical composition,  now  destroyed,  in  the  Great  Council 
Hall,  which  was  so  much  admired  as  to  procure  for  him  a 
yearly  pension  and  the  distinguished  privilege  of  wearing 
the  habit  of  a Venetian  senator.  Fie  became  intimate  with 
Giacomo  Bellini,  and  stood  godfather  to  his  son  Gentile. 
At  Orvieto  he  was  honored  with  the  title  of  “ Magister 
Magistorum.”  By  the  order  of  Martin  V.  he  began  three 
frescoes  in  Rome,  which  he  did  not  live  to  finish.  They 
were  completed  by  Pisanello,  of  Verona,  whose  style  re- 
sembles his.  Unfortunately,  all  of  his  frescoes  have  per- 
ished. By  a contemporary  writer  and  critic  he  was  ranked 
as  the  greatest  artist  of  the  day.  But  while  placing  him  at 
the  head  of  refined  sensuism,  in  which  school  he  shines  as 
does  Fra  Angelico  in  that  of  spiritual  apprehension,  or  Ma- 
saccio in  naturalistic  truth,  he  is  not  to  he  ranked  above 
them  or  even  Fra  Filippo.  His  winsome  qualities  lie  in 
not  deep  but  dainty  idealization,  attractive  coloring,  and 
fertile  invention.  Full  of  gentle  blood  himself,  he  infuses 
it  into  bis  creations.  Out  of  this  world  he  recasts  one  of 
perpetual  summer  and  sunshine,  lifts  us  above  the  prosaic 
realism  of  life  into  delicious  dream-land,  in  which  we  do 
not  see  the  familiar,  careworn,  passion-torn  faces  of  our 
friends,  but  their  better  angels  with  shining  looks  and  sen- 


302 


BENOZZO  GOZZOLT. 


suous  joy.  In  fine,  he  personifies  the  innocent  illusions  of 
youth,  and  fills  our  minds  with  sweet  thoughts  and  pretty 
fancies,  making  nature  alive,  not  as  with  the  Greek,  with 
pantheistic  creations,  but  with  the  happy  consciousness  of 
the  likeness  of  its  Creator.  Be  happy  is  his  motto.  Such 
is  the  conception  we  gather  from  his  very  few  remaining 
works,  which  may  not  even  represent  his  entire  capacity. 

In  close  sympathy  with  him  is  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  (14^4- 
1485,)  a Florentine.  Together  with  Cosimo  Rosselli  his 
early  style  was  formed  under  Fra  Angelico.  But  Cosimo 
soon  went  over  to  the  school  of  Masaccio,  while  Gozzoli, 
although  sufficiently  sympathizing  with  his  master  to  en- 
dow his  works  painted  under  him  with  genuine  religious 
feeling,  yet  is  better  known  by  a wholly  independent  style. 
Vasari  pertinently  says  of  him,  that  he  spent  his  entire  life 
in  honorable  works.  This  no  one  will  doubt  who  has  seen 
his  extensive  labors  in  fresco  at  Pisa,  Florence,  Rome,  San 
Gimignano,  and  numerous  other  localities  in  Umbria  and 
Tuscany.  Throughout  them  all  there  is  the  same  over- 
flowing joy  in  the  natural  world.  Whatever  can  enliven 
its  aspect  and  make  it  more  delightful  he  lavishly  intro- 
duces. Architecture  made  up  of  long  vistas  of  columns, 
noble  arcades,  towers,  and  domes,  displaying  at  times  fan- 
tastic “ tours  de  force,”  in  the  elaborate  and  mixed  Gothic 
and  classical  elements  then  in  fashion,  and  filled  with  pre- 
cious details  of  sculpture,  richly  designed  and  decorated 
doors,  windows,  porticos,  and  balconies,  in  wonderful  variety, 
crowds  his  works.  He  loves  varied,  animated  composi- 
tion. Picturesque  beauty  and  vivid  life  are  his  aims.  He 
peoples  his  paintings  with  numerous  spectators,  relevant  or 
not  to  the  scene,  and  follows  the  example  of  the  earlier 
masters  in  including  in  one  composition  several  distinct 
moments  of  time,  and  repetitions  of  the  chief  actors  under 


BENOZZO  GOZZOLI. 


803 


different  phases  of  events.  Thus  he  often  mixes  several 
pictures  into  one,  and  not  always  in  such  sequence  that  the 
eye  can  readily  separate  them  ; content,  apparently,  when 
by  richness  and  variety  he  can  most  delight  and  astonish. 
As  late  as  1459,  in  his  “ History  of  the  Magi,”  in  the  chapel 
of  the  Ricardi  palace,  Florence,  he  uses  gold  in  relief  and 
otherwise  profusely.  He  also  repeats  the  error  of  Paolo 
Ucello  in  making  a horse  lift  both  legs  of  the  same  side  at 
once,  and  in  other  matters  displays  a curious  mixture  of 
oversight  and  attention  to  common  facts  of  nature.  Some 
of  his  foreshortening  is  excellent,  and  his  groups  of  angels 
wonderfully  rich  in  feeling  and  color.  They  have  better 
relief  than  those  of  Fra  Angelico,  more  strength  of  design, 
as  fine  movement,  superior  drapery,  and  in  expression 
partake  closely  of  the  pure  sentiment  of  his  master.  His 
costumes  are  very  rich.  He  has  not  the  correctness,  force, 
nor  dignity  of  Ghirlandajo.  Neither  does  he  arrive  at  his 
graphic  expression  of  individual  character.  But  he  has 
more  movement,  variety,  and  copiousness  of  invention. 
Occasionally  he  is  timid,  weak,  or  hasty,  but  commonly 
very  successful  in  grouping  and  the  interposition  of  acces- 
sory events.  He  combines  much  of  Gentile  and  Ghirlan- 
dajo, standing  half-way  between  them  ; is  fond  of  historical 
composition,  inserts  the  portraits  and  costumes  of  contem- 
poraries, likes  to  record  every-day  human  nature  in  its 
pleasantest  aspects,  amassing  every  idea  and  object  that  can 
heighten  effect,  not  partial  to  simplicity  or  quietude,  and  is 
ever  a long-winded,  brilliant  narrator,  sparing  no  pains  to 
amuse  and  interest.  At  one  and  the  same  time  we  find 
him  gay  and  dignified,  whimsical,  capricious,  fantastic,  and 
sentimental,  abounding  in  love,  purity,  and  faith,  not  blind 
to  the  evil  side  of  humanity,  quite  capable  of  depicting 
strife  and  crime  and  the  emotions  of  jealousy,  fury,  and 


804 


GOZZOLl’s  HAGAR. 


revenge.  But  such  scenes  are  rare,  and  used  as  allegory 
or  as  striking  contrasts.  Nowhere  is  sensualism  discern- 
ible. Even  his  “ Temptation  of  Joseph  ” is  so  delicately  given 
in  his  Campo  Santo  series  that  it  requires  some  pains  to 
pick  out  the  group.  He  states  the  fact,  but  divests  it  of 
criminal  warmth  in  telling.  So,  too,  in  the  unmerited 
banishment  of  Hagar.  Several  incidents  of  her  history 
are  condensed  into  one  scene.  Sarah  reproaches  Abra- 
ham in  the  presence  of  her  neighbors  for  his  passion  for 
the  bond-maiden,  whose  youthful  charms  are  in  eloquent 
contrast  with  her  wrinkled,  spare  countenance.  The  spec- 
tators evidently  sympathize  in  her  husband’s  taste.  He 
has  the  air  of  a hen-pecked  man,  and  looks  upon  his  wife 
with  great  awe.  Sarah,  infuriated  at  the  calmness  with 
which  her  jealousy  is  received,  — the  picture  shifting  scenes 
like  a Punch-and-Judy  show, — seizes  Hagar  by  the  hair, 
and  with  a vigor  not  warranted  by  her  looks  scourges  her 
rival  furiously,  who  on  her  knees  with  uplifted  hands 
screams  for  pity,  her  dishevelled  hair  flowing  wildly  over 
her  shoulders,  and  her  dress  falling  down  in  front  disclosing 
ripe  beauties  that  still  further  exasperate  her  mistress. 
Abraham  looks  on  in  piteous,  helpless  reproach,  afraid  to 
stir  in  behalf  of  his  concubine.  Soon  she  is  seen  walking 
away  with  her  son,  faint  and  despairing,  sinking  down  to 
die  in  the  far-off  wilderness,  unobservant  of  the  angel  of 
the  Lord  now  coming  to  her  aid. 

In  another  of  his  series  of  Bible  Histories  he  perpetrates 
a sly  joke  at  the  expense  of  the  female  sex.  It  occurs  in 
the  “Drunkenness  of  Noah,”  perhaps  his  best  work.  Note 
the  Flora-like  grace,  evidently  studied  from  the  antique,  of 
the  movement  of  the  woman  on  the  left,  bearing  a basket 
of  luscious  grapes  on  her  head  ; the  jovial  and  elastic  ac- 
tion of  the  man  treading  down  the  fruit  in  the  wine-vat ; 


GOZZOLI  S LANDSCAPE. 


305 


the  naive  fright  of  the  Cupid-like  infants  in  front  at  the 
playful  attack  of  a pet  dog  ; the  enticing  beauty  of  the 
young  women  who  give  Noah  to  drink  of  the  new  made 
wine  in  golden  vessels,  and,  better  still,  the  conception  of 
the  final  scene,  when  the  aged  inebriate  lies  in  brutal,  help- 
less nakedness  upon  the  earth.  Ham  and  his  compan- 
ions scoff  at  him.  Shem  and  Japhet,  with  their  eyes 
turned  aside,  bring  a garment  to  cast  over  their  father. 
An  aged  female,  his  wife  perhaps,  bends  sorrowfully  over 
him,  her  agony  at  his  degradation  obscuring  his  nudity ; 
while  a little  farther  off*  stands  a young  and  curious  daugh- 
ter of  Eve,  pretending  to  he  shocked  and  to  turn  away,  but 
slyly  looking  on  through  her  fingers  with  which  she  feigns 
to  cover  her  eyes,  wantonly  laughing  the  while  at  the  patri- 
arch’s debasement. 

Gozzoli  painted  twenty-four  of  the  compartments  in  the 
Campo  Santo,  occupying  him  sixteen  years.  With  due 
allowance  for  his  technical  inferiority,  there  is  much  in  his 
compositions  that  resembles  Paul  Veronese  : the  same  pleas- 
ure in  festivals,  music,  aristocratic  company,  and  marriage 
scenes,  even  to  the  arrangement  of  his  tables,  architecture, 
treatment  of  light,  fondness  for  dogs ; and  he  anticipates 
him  in  the  introduction  of  kittens  hungrily  scratching  at 
the  table-linen  to  be  noticed.  The  introduction  of  low  in- 
cidents of  this  character  is  exceedingly  rare  in  Florentine 
painting,  in  sacred  subjects,  though  common  enough  in 
German  art,  from  which,  with  many  other  characteristics, 
it  passed  into  Venetian.  Tintoretto  becomes  vulgarly  of- 
fensive, by  making  a cat  and  dog  conspicuously  quarrel- 
ling over  a stolen  hone  in  the  foreground  of  his  “ Last 
Supper.” 

The  landscape,  however,  is  Benozzo  Gozzoli’s  favorite 
field.  His  are  the  opposite  of  Gentile’s  flowing,  wave-like 
20 


306 


PINTURICCHIO, 


lines,  which  so  pleasantly  lead  the  vision  into  his  broad  and 
varied  backgrounds.  Gozzoli,  on  the  contrary,  indulges 
in  constant  surprises ; sharp,  broken  lines  of  mountains, 
hills,  and  precipitous  valleys  ; perpendicular  lines  every- 
where, suggestive  of  height ; tall  and  straight  trees,  pines 
and  cypresses  especially,  without  root ; rocks,  craggy,  trun- 
cated, and  Giottesque  ; a plentiful  sprinkling  of  cities,  cas- 
tles and  hamlets;  an  aversion  to  water;  partiality  to  a rough, 
upland  country,  throughout  which  with  open  hand  he  scat- 
ters birds  of  the  richest  plumage,  particularly  peacocks  and 
parrots,  and  domestic  and  herbivorous  animals  of  all  vari- 
eties, and  children  in  frolicsome  companionship.  His  in- 
stincts are  sensuous,  but  innocent  and  gay.  They  have  no 
affinity  with  mysticism  or  asceticism  ; no  inner  sense  to  fath- 
om; but  seize  upon  the  scenic  elements  of  life  and  present 
them  in  a natural  and  captivating  form.  Gentile  gives  us 
to  drink  of  the  luscious  vintage  of  Spain ; Gozzoli  of  the 
brisk  wines  of  France. 

Somewhat  later,  hut  of  a like  bias  towards  the  landscape 
and  ornamentation  and  of  a similar  tone  of  mind,  is  Bernar- 
dino Pinturicchio  ( 1454-1515),  born  and  educated  at  Peru- 
gia, though  ranking  with  the  Sienese.  Among  the  Tus- 
cans he  wTas  the  last  artist  of  note  who  used  gold  profusely 
in  his  draperies  and  ornaments,  imitating  Gentile  by  giving 
it  relief.  Richness,  elaborate  finish,  brilliancy,  the  intro- 
duction of  beautiful  birds  and  graceful  animals,  the  joy  of 
nature,  luxury,  grace,  and  elegance  characterize  him. 
Vasari  has  studiously  depreciated  his  style  and  character, 
and  would  have  it  believed  that  he  died  of  chagrin  at  the 
accidental  discovery  of  five  hundred  golden  ducats  in  a rot- 
ten chest,  which  he  had  peevishly  insisted  should  be  taken 
out  of  the  room  allotted  to  him  in  the  monastery  of  St. 
Francis,  at  Siena,  where  he  was  engaged  in  painting  a 44 Na- 


PINTURICCHIO. 


807 


tivity,”  and  which  otherwise  he  might  have  appropriated. 
His  paintings  indicate  any  spirit  but  that  of  avarice  and 
dishonesty,  and  from  the  testimony  of  Tizio,  a contempo- 
rary, we  learn  that  his  death  was  hastened  by  the  care- 
lessness or  cruelty  of  relations,  who,  when  he  was  ill,  left 
him  alone  and  helpless  in  his  house.  Possibly  this  neglect, 
inexcusable  at  that,  had  been  provoked  by  the  not  uncom- 
mon infirmity  of  an  impetuous,  exacting  disposition.  But 
nothing  worse  need  be  credited  of  the  friend  and  companion 
of  Raphael. 

He  had  his  moments  of  happy  inspiration,  and  also  of 
degenerate,  mannered  execution,  the  result  of  haste  and  ex- 
haustion. His  figures  are  tall,  but  not  awkward.  Grace 
and  tenderness  particularly  distinguish  him.  Perugino 
furnished  him  with  models  for  his  angels,  but  his  Madon- 
nas have*a  loveliness  wholly  his  own.  Primarily  he  mani- 
fested much  of  the  pure  Umbrian  feeling.  His  faces  are 
sweetly  refined,  though  without  much  strength  of  character. 
Still  he  was  esteemed  in  portraiture.  The  landscape  is, 
however,  his  most  interesting  field ; his  architecture  and 
accessories  being  grandly  cast  and  highly  adorned. 

The  Library  of  the  Duomo  at  Siena  contains  a series  of 
paintings  by  him  in  fresco,  representing  the  principal  events 
in  the  life  of  Pius  IT.  (iEneas  Sylvius),  done  from  1502 
to  1504,  by  order  of  Cardinal  Francesco  Piccolomini,  after- 
wards Pius  III.,  by  whose  family  he  was  much  patronized. 
They  are  admirably  adapted  to  the  surrounding  architec- 
ture, and  are  as  fresh  in  color  and  in  as  fine  condition  as  if 
done  but  yesterday.  It  has  always  been  a question  to 
what  extent  Pinturicchio  was  indebted  to  Raphael  for  their 
design  and  composition.  Without  rivalling  Raphael,  both 
having  been  trained  under  common  artistic  auspices,  there 
is  sufficient  affinity  of  feeling  between  the  two  to  bar- 


308 


PINTUR1CCHIO. 


monize  their  works  in  no  ordinary  degree.  The  drawings 
of  Raphael  of  this  period  are  superior  to  these  works,  yet 
they  have  sufficient  semblance  to  them  to  countenance  those 
critics  who  are  too  eager  to  depreciate  the  elder  and  infe- 
rior artist  for  the  benefit  of  the  younger,  who  has  no  need 
of  any  dubious  testimony  to  add  to  his  fame.  They  seem 
to  be  really  the  work  of  Pinturicchio,  assisted  somewhat 
but  influenced  greatly  by  the  superior  knowledge  and  taste 
of  his  young  friend.  Their  most  obvious  characteristics, 
brilliancy,  the  method  of  execution,  general  style  and  feel- 
ing, belong  to  the  former ; while  in  the  graceful  disposition 
of  the  numerous  figures,  each  a study  by  himself,  a crowd 
hut  without  confusion,  and  the  admirable  unity  of  the  pic- 
turesque scenes,  there  is  an  unmistakable  Raphaelesque 
sentiment,  evincing  how  gracefully  and  generously  the 
older  could  adopt  the  better  inspirations  of  the  younger 
painter. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Naturalistic,  Religious  Painting.  Rise  of  the  Classical  Paduan  School.  Squar- 
cione,  1396-1474.  Andrea  Mantegna,  1430-1506.  Venetian  and  Tuscan 
Coloring ; the  Meaning  and  Spirit  of  each.  Sensuous  and  Purists’  Styles 
and  Aims  in  Color.  Nature  the  Universal  “ Bible”  of  Inspiration.  Revela- 
tion the  Special  do.  Causes  of  the  Decay  of  Purism  and  Asceticism.  The 
Difficulties  of  Religious  Art.  How  to  view  and  interpret  it.  Plorence  cos- 
mopolitan in  Art.  Umbria  mystic.  Alunno,  1458-1492.  Fiorenzo,  1450. 
Bonfigli,  1420-1496.  Giovanni  Santi,  the  Father  of  Raphael.  Francesco 
Francia,  1450-1517.  His  Sons.  Perugino,  1446-1524.  Lorenzo  di  Credi, 
1459-1531.  Fra  Bartolomeo,  1468-1517.  Alberto  Albertinelli,  1475-1520? 
Francesco  Granacci,  1477-1544.  Series  of  School  Artists. 


It  has  been  shown  that  the  artists  of  the  direct  succes- 
sion of  Masaccio  painted  religious  subjects  rather  from  ex- 
ternal pressure  than  internal  conviction.  Treating  them 
historically,  sensuously,  or  naturally,  their  poetry  of  expres- 
sion did  not  soar  above  the  atmosphere  of  earth.  Intellect 
colored  by  sense  guided  their  art,  the  same  as  the  mystics 
sought  through  the  subjection  of  the  material  to  the  spirit- 
ual to  elevate  the  spectator  into  supernal  scenery  and  emo- 
tion. Saints  in  art,  as  in  every  other  pursuit,  are  the  ex- 
ceptional class.  Not  that  the  numerous  others  are  specially 
sinners,  hut  worldly  ways  are  more  intelligible  to  them. 
Beside,  their  close  study  of  nature  tended  to  withdraw  them 
more  and  more  from  mystic  thought  and  ascetic  habits  ; so 
that  the  religious  sentiment  had  now  become  a secondary 
influence. 

There  was,  however,  another  phase  of  painting,  contem- 
porary with  theirs,  basing  its  technical  expression  upon  the 


310 


SQUARCIONE. 


new  progress,  but  in  feeling  more  akin  to  the  older  lyrical 
school,  and  deriving  its  inspiration  exclusively  from  the 
Church.  Before  bringing  its  artists  into  view,  did  scope 
permit,  it  would  he  a pleasant  task  to  wander  awhile  from 
Etruscan  ground  to  the  north  and  east,  and  investigate  the 
methods  and  motives  of  the  equally  interesting  painters  of 
Lombardy  and  the  Venetian  States  of  the  same  epoch,  par- 
allel as  they  were  in  progressive  development,  though  not 
always  in  time  with  the  Tuscans.  Indeed,  there  was  so 
much  interchange  between  them  of  works  and  ideas,  the 
artists  of  each  passing  to  and  fro,  that  the  history  of  one 
locality  has  a general  resemblance  to  its  neighbor,  the  dif- 
ference being  rather  technical  than  mental.  As  we  go 
northward  we  find  the  counterpart  in  feeling  and  thought 
to  Etruscan  art ; not  an  equality  in  names,  as  a whole ; 
for  Ambrogio  Borgognone,  the  Vivarini,  Lorenzo  Costa, 
Carlo  Crivelli,  Ercole  Grande,  Mazzolino,  and  Melozzo  da 
Forli,*  are  scarcely  to  be  placed  upon  the  same  level  as  Fra 
Angelico,  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  Masaccio,  Fra  Filippo,  Luca 
Signorelli,  and  Domenico  Ghirlandajo,  not  to  mention  the 
greatest  of  the  Tuscans,  the  immortal  trio,  Raphael,  Leo- 
nardo, and  Michel  Angelo.  Still,  for  a proper  understand- 
ing of  all  the  elements  that  now  entered  into  the  progress  of 
painting,  a brief  reference  is  necessary  to  the  classical  feel- 
ing, so  largely  developed  by  Francesco  Squarcione  (1396— 
1T/T),  of  Padua,  who  was  the  first  painter  of  note  that 
made  antique  sculpture  his  model,  in  preference  to  direct 

* Melozzo,  however,  stands  almost  by  himself  for  his  time,  (1472),  when  his 
principal  work  was  executed  in  the  Church  of  the  S.  S.  Apostoli,  at  Rome,  of 
which  some  fragments  have  been  preserved.  Agincourt,  plate  142,  engraves 
the  figure  of  the  Almighty,  and  some  angels,  which  are  grandly  conceived, 
with  full,  graceful  modelling,  an  aim  at  true  perspective,  a beauty  of  attitude, 
and  softness  of  expression  that  are  quite  like  Correggio  himself.  His  treat- 
ment of  drapery,  which  is  cumbersome  and  unmeaning,  is  much  inferior  to 
his  nude  figures. 


ANDREA  MANTEGNA. 


311 


study  of  nature,  though  he  recommended  to  his  scholars 
special  attention  to  it  to  avoid  the  rigidity  of  mere  copying. 
He  considered,  however,  that  the  antique  was  the  embodied 
ideal  of  the  real,  and  was  so  enamored  of  its  study  that  he 
went  to  Greece,  and  travelled  all  over  Italy,  collecting  statu- 
ary, and  making  drawings  of  what  could  not  be  removed, 
which  collection  he  established  at  Padua  as  an  academy  of 
design.  It  grew  rapidly  into  repute,  and  attracted  to  him  so 
many  scholars,  more  than  a hundred  at  one  time,  that  he 
was  called  the  “ Father  of  Painters.”  Popes  and  princes 
greatly  honored  and  encouraged  him.  His  own  pictures 
are  extremely  rare.  His  predilection,  as  may  be  supposed, 
was  for  mythological  subjects  and  classical  motives,  and 
in  his  severity  of  outline  and  decided  feeling  for  idealiza- 
tion he  resembles  Botticelli.  But  too  exclusive  study  of 
sculpture,  through  his  influence,  as  a basis  of  design  in 
painting,  led  many  into  exaggerated  sharpness  of  contours, 
heaviness  and  rigidity  in  draperies,  excessive  clinging  to 
the  form  to  mark  more  prominently  the  limbs,  or  to  fre- 
quent hard,  oblique,  small  folds,  which  mar  the  general 
sweep  and  lose  the  grand  lines  in  a multitude  of  short  ones. 
Beside  the  statuesque  character  of  their  pictures,  the  artists 
of  this  tendency  also  showed  their  preference  for  classical 
models  in  their  ornamentation,  delighting  in  festoons  of 
fruits  and  flowers,  bas-reliefs,  and  the  architectural  embellish- 
ments and  subjects  of  antiquity,  often  incongruously  blended 
with  Christian  topics  out  of  mere  wantonness  of  design. 

Andrea  Mantegna  (1430—1506)  was  the  greatest  of 
the  classically  trained  painters.  He  worked  chiefly  at 
Mantua,  attracted  thither  by  its  duke,  Gonzaga.  Pre- 
cision, sharpness,  richness,  at  times  a slight  admixture  of 
gold,  deep  color,  marvelous  finish,  severity  of  design,  dig- 
nity and  intensity  of  expression,  considerable  beauty  but 


312 


VENETIAN  COLORING. 


not  equal  grace,  refined  feeling,  much  overborne,  however, 
by  his  technical  force,  distinguish  the  best  manner  of  Man- 
tegna. He  is  fertile  and  fanciful ; sometimes  grand,  al- 
ways painstaking,  not  free,  neither  sensuous,  sensual,  nor 
spiritual,  but  purely  intellectual,  richly  elaborating  and  dec- 
orating when  in  harmony  with  his  motive,  and  at  other 
times  simple  in  style,  manifesting  deep  emotion,  and  even 
winsome  and  tender,  as  in  his  masterpiece,  the  “ Madonna 
della  Vittoria  ” of  the  Louvre,  in  which  he  represents  his  pa- 
tron Gonzaga  kneeling  in  adoration  to  the  Virgin  for 
his  victory  over  Charles  VIII.  of  France.  For  variety 
of  invention,  beauty  of  form,  and  exquisite  finish,  there 
are  in  the  same  Museum  two  pictures  of  his  of  an  allegori- 
cal character  even  more  noticeable.  But  those  which  most 
graphically  display  his  classical  proclivities  are  the  u Tri- 
umphs of  Caesar,”  the  cartoons  of  which  are  now  preserved 
at  Hampton  Court,  England.  His  conception  of  the  brill- 
iant, varied  spectacle  is  natural  and  vivid  ; the  design  ele- 
gant, and  the  knowledge  displayed  of  the  accessories  of 
pagan  ovations  remarkable.  Indeed  it  is  the  actual  tri- 
umph of  Mantegna ; a favorable  contrast  in  true  feel- 
ing- to  the  bastard  classicalisms  of  the  French  school  of  the 
© 

same  tendency. 

Form,  design,  symmetrical  grouping,  and  stately  or 
natural  composition  are  the  principal  external  elements  of 
painting  in  the  Paduan  and  Tuscan  schools,  color  being 
subordinate,  though  its  value  was  well  recognized,  but  under 
different  aspects  and  governed  by  different  principles  than 
those  which  obtained  among  the  Venetians.  In  Italy  the 
latter  were  the  earliest  to  use  oil  colors,  on  account  of  their 
superior  adaptation  to  those  effects  which  were  their  pecu- 
liar aim.  Their  splendid  success  blinds  most  spectators  to 
the  motives  which  governed  the  management  of  colors 


TUSCAN  COLORING. 


SIS 


x 

\ 

among*  their  southern  neighbors.  However  much  we  may 
admire  Venetian  hues,  we  must  not  forget  that  they  had 
small  connection  with  the  inner  sense  of  art ; that  they 
were  an  external  effect,  recognizable  but  seldom  in  nature, 
and  then  under  peculiar  atmospherical  or  conventional  con- 
ditions. Venetian  coloring  has  its  origin  in  a taste  for 
magnificence,  ripened  under  congenial  skies  and  strength- 
ened by  intimate  relations  with  the  Orient.  The  Vene- 
tians loved  splendor.  They  sought  to  idealize  color ; the 
aim  of  the  Tuscans  was  truth  of  character.  The  Venetians 
were  warm,  but  also  a grave,  dignified,  astute,  festive,  un- 
fathomable race ; jealous,  ambitious,  devotional,  and  vin- 
dictive ; casting  over  social  life  an  inexorable  statecraft 
which  merged  individuality  into  a political  mechanism. 
Thus  the  tone  of  Venice,  unlike  that  of  Florence,  in  relig- 
ion, politics,  commerce,  and  art,  is  uniform.  We  recall  the 
greatness  of  Venice,  but  scarcely  remember  her  great  men. 
The  names  of  those  of  Florence  are  household  words  through- 
out the  civilized  world,  and  we  know  her  greatness  chiefly 
through  their  strong  and  varied  individuality.  In  the  former, 
mind  and  feeling  were  fused  into  one  mould ; in  the  latter, 
they  took  many  and  varied  shapes.  If  it  be  objected  that 
Titian  is  as  great  a representative  name  in  painting  as  Ra- 
phael or  Correggio,  we  admit  it.  But  Titian  is  the  culmina- 
tion of  the  Venetian  taste  for  color.  He  represents  the  tone 
of  his  country  in  its  completest  development.  His  standard 
of  perfection  is  the  test  of  success  to  all  of  his  school.  The 
great  Tuscans,  on  the  contrary,  each  out  of  his  own  soul 
created  a diversified  and  independent  art-world  unto  him- 
self. Hence,  confining  our  view  to  color,  we  perceive  how 
local  and  characteristic  it  was  of  the  Venetians  as  a race, 
while  among  the  Tuscans  it  was  as  varied  as  were  the  indi- 
vidual proclivities  of  their  leading  artists. 


314 


CHARACTER  OF  VENETIAN  COLORING. 


We  cannot  now  enter  upon  a complete  examination  of 
Venetian  coloring.  It  is  enough  to  point  out  its  uniform 
expression,  eesthetical  character,  legitimately  the  offspring 
of  art,  grave  and  solemn  rather  than  lightsome  and  joyous, 
born  to  riches  and  dignity,  and  its  typical  connection  with 
the  homogeneous  policy  of  the  state.  Its  foundation  is  in 
an  innate  passion  for  warm  tones,  deep  shadows,  and  spar- 
kling play  of  light.  In  its  luminous  fusion  of  tints,  subtle 
gradations,  powerful  yet  harmonious  contrasts,  force  of  pro- 
jection, imperceptible  outlines  lost  in  the  sleight  of  color, 
festive  or  serious  aspects,  rarely  descending  to  absolute 
sensualism  nor  arriving  at  full  spirituality,  always  clinging 
to  its  peculiar  choice  of  light,  its  oligarchical  features  and 
semi-oriental  feeling  for  the  alternations  of  deep  repose  or 
strong  action,  above  all  in  its  magic  unity  of  tone,  it  has  a 
fascination  as  strong  and  mysterious  as  the  wave-worn 
Queen  of  the  Adriatic  herself.  Indeed  it  is  the  romance 
of  color,  as  the  Greek  sculpture  is  the  idealism  of  form ; 
each  perfected  by  the  cunning  of  art  upon  the  plane  of 
earthly  sympathies  and  understandings. 

Analogous  to  the  power  Venetian  coloring  has  over  the 
senses,  the  simple,  positive,  crystalline  tints  of  the  Tuscan 
purists  exercise  sway  over  the  spiritual  faculties,  on  ac- 
count of  their  peaceful,  joyous,  and  religious  suggestive- 
ness. It  is  unfortunate  that  so  few  of  the  works  of  either 
the  Giotteschi  or  their  successors  in  devotional  sentiment 
have  descended  to  our  times  in  their  original  purity.  But 
when  we  meet  with  them,  we  find  that  their  principles  of 
coloring,  harmonizing  as  they  do  so  beautifully  with  the 
motives  of  the  composition,  were  not  only  the  instinct  but 
the  results  of  thoughtful  consideration  of  the  artist.  Purity 
and  holiness  of  sentiment  sought  expression  in  clearness 
and  brightness  of  color.  Hence,  in  part,  the  long-continued 


NATURE  OF  THE  UNIVERSAL  BIBLE. 


315 


use  of  tempera,  which  was  as  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  ef- 
fects sought  by  the  religious  artists  as  was  oil  for  the  Ve- 
netians. In  proportion  as  Beauty  assumes  sensuous  or 
sensual  feeling,  its  expression  in  color  deepens  and  darkens, 
for  it  seeks  a grosser  incarnation  in  material,  and  relies 
more  upon  contrasts  of  lights  and  shadows,  warmth  and 
fusion  of  tints,  and  the  subtleties  of  imitation,  elevated  or 
common  according  to  the  quality  of  the  inspiration,  than 
upon  the  power  of  symbolism  or  the  suggestiveness  of 
etherealized  pigments.  The  hues  of  Simone  Martini,  Star- 
nina,  Sano  di  Pietro,  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  Francesco  Francia, 
and  their  brethren,  are  not  accidents  of  art  any  more  than 
the  chaste  folds  of  their  draperies  or  the  decorous  attitudes 
of  their  holy  personages.  And  this  is  the  grand  distinction 
between  the  conflicting  principles.  All  other  than  religious 
art — we  mean  its  mystical,  ecstatic  aspect — addresses 
itself  to  the  tangible,  substantial  present.  Realism  loves 
the  Appearances  of  Things,  — Humanity  and  Nature  as 
related  to  Earth : Mysticism  strives  to  penetrate  the  Life 
beyond  the  grave. 

Naturalism  has  ever  before  it  an  attainable,  perceptible 
standard  and  inspiration.  Dealing  with  men  and  things, 
it  need  but  cleverly  imitate  and  record  to  attain  truth  and 
beauty.  Nature  is  to  it  the  universal  Bible.  Consequent- 
ly, if  the  artist  accurately  designs  and  colors  her  patterns, 
our  pleasure  is  proportionate  to  his  skill  in  counterfeiting 
her  realism.  Study  qualifies  both  him  and  the  critic  to  in- 
telligently pronounce  upon  her  varied  truths.  His  art  being 
based  upon  science,  we  test  his  work  by  its  laws.  No  fear 
through  them  of  mistaking  a cabbage  for  a lily,  or  a crow 
for  a nightingale.  He  stakes  his  reputation  upon  creating 
out  of  formless,  soulless  vehicles  an  appearance  so  life-like 
that  our  highest  pleasure  shall  lie  in  its  truthful  beauty. 


316 


REVELATION,  THE  PARTICULAR  BIBLE. 


“ How  like  ! ” “ How  true  ! ” u How  well  he  comprehends 
nature  ! ” — such  is  the  guerdon  he  covets. 

Revelation  is  the  particular  Bible.  While  all  persons 
can  feel  and  understand,  in  proportion  to  their  cultivation, 
the  world  of  facts  and  its  tangled  destinies,  interests,  pas- 
sions, and  fallacies,  in  short,  the  language  of  the  external 
senses,  comparatively  few  qualify  themselves  to  interpret 
the  signs  of  spiritual  life.  It  may  be  and  may  not  be.  It 
is  far  off.  A dense  mist  shrouds  it.  It  is  a dogma,  a 
speculation ; a thing  of  to-morrow : at  the  surest,  a vague 
handwriting  upon  the  wall  which  prophets  alone  can  read. 
Among  the  many  false,  how  to  know  the  true  I 

Again,  the  age  of  parables,  mysticism,  and  aceticism 
has  irrevocably  passed  away.  Modernism  has  no  liking  for 
the  dry  hones  of  theology.  The  kingdom  of  Dogma,  ruled 
by  the  tyrant  Infallibility,  is  terribly  shaken  and  broken  by 
Scepticism,  the  pioneer  of  Progress.  Though  Faith  be  now 
somewhat  loose,  it  is  in  the  Hope  of  more  Light.  Then, 
too,  we  have  our  own  race  of  martyrs.  In  spirit  the  same, 
though  in  life  not  like  those  men  and  women  who  so  long 
ago  edified  Christians  by  their  holy  lives  and  cruel  deaths. 
Much  good  have  they  won  to  the  world.  The  Church 
called  them  saints,  and  exalted  them  to  hierarchichal  dignity. 
But  in  ceasing  to  be  human  they  have  become  abstrac- 
tions ; virtue,  holiness,  faith  incarnated ; the  more  remote 
from  our  humanity,  the  more  difficult  for  us  to  feel  their 
individuality.  Apotheosis  is  ever  a doubtful  experiment 
upon  influence  over  the  heart.  Men,  to  be  moved,  must 
have  the  example  of  beings  like  unto  and  near  to  them- 
selves. Christianity  was  irresistible  in  its  youth,  because 
of  its  reality  to  the  world,  and  the  human  individuality  of 
its  author.  It  appealed  intelligently  and  forcibly  to  men 
from  the  plane  of  their  own  existence.  Mediaeval  Chris- 


RELIGIOUS  ART  UNPOPULAR. 


317 


tianity,  and  in  consequence  its  art,  was  strong  to  move  in 
the  degree  it  realized  to  believers  this  sentiment.  It  was 
the  Man-Christ  that  evoked  the  crusades  and  drew  sympa- 
thetic tears  and  stern  blows  from  iron-willed  and  iron-clad 
men.  They  believed  that  warrior-saints  fought  visibly  for 
them.  George  and  James  came  down  more  than  once 
from  heaven  in  their  extremities  to  rescue  and  give  them 
victory  over  the  infidel.  Upon  a Woman-Saviour  is  now 
centred  the  feeling  of  the  Catholic  Church;  — such  as  is 
left  to  it.  Jesus  upon  the  cross,  once  a dying,  suffering 
man,  and  for  us,  has  become  the  lifeless  symbol  of  a myste- 
rious creed.  And  Mary,  as  she  ceases  to  be  of  those  who 
were  the  last  at  the  Crucifixion  and  the  first  at  the  Sepul- 
chre, forsaking  humanity  and  becoming  the  Queen  of 
Heaven,  putting  on  the  robe  of  mysticism  and  the  glories 
of  divinity,  equally  loses  her  hold  over  those  born  of  woman. 
In  the  degree  that  the  natural  association  ceases  and  the 
doctrinal  predominates  in  art,  its  force  is  weakened  and  it 
requires  a peculiar  religious  training  to  make  it  effective. 

In  this  age  religious  art  is  not  popular,  because  it  is 
received  as  an  abstraction  of  the  superstitious  Past.  That 
which  we  are  now  about  to  enter  upon  was  its  transition 
period,  when  it  was  still  felt,  understood,  and  cherished, 
but  by  a constantly  diminishing  audience.  It  always  had 
peculiar  difficulties  to  contend  with,  increasing  with  the 
spread  of  naturalism,  the  revival  of  classical  taste  and  stud- 
ies, and  the  diversion  of  the  mind  generally  from  its  pre- 
vious concentration  upon  the  tenets  of  Christianity  as  inter- 
preted by  a not-to-be-questioned  authority.  In  its  highest 
office  it  sought  to  pictorialize  the  spiritual  idea.  Aspiring 
to  this,  it  was  compelled  to  be  conventional,  symbolical,  and 
chiefly  suggestive.  Naturalism  had  its  models  and  stand- 
ard of  perfection.  Religious  art  was  without  an  absolute 


318 


REQUIREMENTS  OF  RELIGIOUS  ART. 


scale  to  appeal  to  for  its  technical  guidance.  Public  faith, 
particular  revelation  — in  itself  always  mystic  and  uncer- 
tain — the  imagination  of  the  artist,  and  ecclesiastical  tra- 
ditions and  authority  were  its  fountains  of  invention.  The 
primary  motives  and  ultimate  aims  being  special,  and  in 
one  sense  antithetic  to  naturalistic  art,  it  cared  more  for 
the  utterance  o£  its  sentiment  and  less  for  technicalities. 
Fact  and  science  were  subordinated  to  spiritual  motives. 
And  only  as  the  spectator  comprehends  this  principle  and 
makes  it  his  standard  of  criticism  has  he  the  right  clue 
whereby  to  get  at  its  degree  of  success.  The  artist  also 
must  keep  upon  this  platform,  otherwise  by  too  curiously 
searching  out  and  cunningly  imitating  the  external  world, 
with  hope  to  make  its  language  the  organ  of  spiritualities, 
he  sinks  religious  art  into  mere  naturalism,  quenching  its 
ethereality,  making  it  of  none  effect,  or,  worse,  anointing  it 
with  sensualism  or  ridicule. 

In  the  infancy  of  painting  and  its  first  stages  of  progress, 
the  religious  artist,  as  we  have  seen,  had  with  him  the  pop- 
ular sympathy  and  understanding.  Technically  much  had 
not  been  given  to  him,  and  of  him  much  was  not  required. 
Devotion  in  him  and  his  spectator  ennobled  both.  But 
now  scientific  progress  had  raised  up  for  him  an  invidious 
standard  of  comparison.  He  was  required  to  suggest  pro- 
found mysteries  and  spiritualized  emotions  in  a less  con- 
ventional guise,  effecting  a harmonious  compromise  between 
nature  and  idea,  lest  on  the  one  hand  he  be  considered  ig- 
norant and  careless,  and  on  the  other  unspiritual  and  irre- 
ligious. Besides  this,  he  had  at  the  best  but  imperfect 
vehicles  wherewith  to  suggest  glorified  beings  and  celestial 
scenery.  In  every  way,  in  attempting  to  soar  he  was  mo- 
mentarily liable,  Icarus-like,  to  he  precipitated  broken- 
winged to  the  ground.  We  should  not,  therefore,  too 


FLORENCE,  COSMOPOLITAN  IN  ART. 


319 


readily  complain  of  cold  hues,  if  we  find  them  pure,  bright, 
and  typical ; for  the  artist  could  not  well  give  the  coveted 
warmth  without  over-risk  of  sensuousness.  He  did  wisely 
iu  his  temperance,  hinting  at  what  it  is  impossible  not  only 
to  represent,  but  to  have  any  tangible  model  to  appeal  to, 
seen  of  all  men.  Were  it  within  mortal  compass,  he  would 
rejoice  in  making  heavenly  garments  and  celestial  forms 
glow  as  if  with  the  light  of  the  city  that  hath  no  need  of 
the  sun  nor  of  the  moon  to  shine  upon  it ; for  the  glory  of 
God  lightens  it,  and  44  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof,”  and 
all  that  “ are  saved  shall  walk  in  the  light  thereof.”  What 
wonder,  that  an  artist  whose  soul  glows  with  such  a vision 
should  mourn  over  his  wretched  pigments  while  using 
them  as  cunningly  as  he  may ; and  filled  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  that  ineffable  glory,  forget  at  times  the  unity 
of  perspective,  the  strength  of  shadows,  and  the  scientific 
distribution  of  light ! Cannot  we  sometimes  overlook  a 
stammering  tongue  in  the  force  of  great  truths]  Are  we 
not  sometimes  to  sympathize  with  the  finite  in  its  search 
for  the  infinite  I 

Florence  is  distinguished  above  all  other  Italian  cities 
for  the  variety  of  her  art.  She  was  comparatively  free, 
commercial,  and  cosmopolitan,  and,  in  consequence,  eclectic 
in  her  intellectual  tone,  giving  birth  to  and  fostering  ex- 
tremes of  style  and  sentiment.  Fra  Angelico  and  Fra  Fi- 
lippo were  contemporaries  within  her  walls.  While  the 
school  of  Masaccio  was  in  its  fullest  vigor,  a counterbal- 
ancing tendency  of  spiritual  expression  was  maintained  with 
much  purity  and  genius  by  Perugino,  Lorenzo  di  Credi, 
Fra  Bartolomeo,  and  their  scholars,  who  although  having 
much  in  common  in  the  principles  of  design  and  color  with 
the  naturalists,  yet  held  firmly  to  religious  inspiration. 

This  was  still  more  emphatically  true  of  the  retired  val- 


320 


MYSTIC  UMBRIA. 


leys  and  picturesque  retreats  of  Umbria,  which  for  ages 
had  been  the  centre  of  deep,  devotional  feeling.  Under  its 
influence  Assisi  had  become  a venerated  shrine  of  mystic 
painting.  Nearly  a century  and  a half  previous  Florence 
had  consecrated  to  its  pious  adornment  the  genius  of  the 
greatest  of  the  Giotteschi,  including  the  great  master  him- 
self and  his  teacher,  Cimabue.  The  ascetic  piety  of  St. 
Francis  toned  the  entire  region.  Here  he  was  born,  and 
here  his  miracles  had  being.  Here  he  raised  the  famed 
sanctuary  which  still  bears  his  name  and  recalls  so  forcibly 
the  time  when  the  monastic  orders  dominated  the  religious 
world,  and  were  also  its  best  fruits.  Saints  had  then  more 
real  power  than  kings.  Isolated  from  the  active  world, 
intensely  impregnated  with  the  recollections  of  the  golden 
period  of  monkism,  the  site  of  its  most  self-denying,  holiest 
estate,  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  enthusiastic,  mys- 
tic pietism,  constantly  invigorated  by  the  reputation  of  nu- 
merous miracles  and  wondrous  legends  of  pictures  that 
from  time  to  time  testified  of  their  own  accord  to  the  truths 
of  the  holy  Catholic  religion  which  they  illustrated,  sur- 
rounded with  the  beautiful  testimonials  and  eloquent  les- 
sons of  those  masters  to  whom  faith  in  spiritualities  was  a 
living  reality,  amid  placid,  picturesque  scenery  inciting  to 
contemplation,  and  those  tender,  fathomless  longings  to 
unravel  the  inner  sense  of  things,  which  at  some  time  or 
other  of  their  lives  beset  all  men,  stimulating  to  rapt  desire 
and  exaltation  of  soul ; it  was  but  natural  that  such  a coun- 
try should  become  the  focus  of  a further  intense  develop- 
ment of  religious  sentiment,  infusing  its  peculiar  spirit  into 
every  artist  nurtured  within  its  confines  ; a spirit  all  the 
deeper  inasmuch  as  Siena  was  its  close  neighbor. 

After  the  Giotteschi,  the  artists  who  first  acquired  local 
celebrity  here  were  Niccola  da  Fuligno  or  Alunno  (1458— 


GIOVANNI  SANTI. 


32 1 


1492),  Fiorenzo  di  Lorenzo,  and  Benedetto  Bonfigli  (14S0— 
1496),  of  Perugia.  They  are  serious,  dignified,  religious 
painters,  Alunno  being  the  best.  His  best  points  are  the 
grace  and  innocence  of  his  angels.  In  this  connection,  an- 
ticipating and  leading  the  way  to  the  school  of  Perugino 
and  the  first  manner  of  Raphael,  we  find  his  father,  Gio- 
vanni Santi,  by  vulgar  usage  corrupted  into  Sanzio,  of  Ur- 
bino.  He  was  an  accomplished,  amiable  gentleman,  and 
a progressive  artist,  deeply  imbued  with  the  love  of  his 
profession.  His  works  are  rarely  to  be  met  with  out  of 
Umbria.  They  contain  the  germs  of  that  winsome  purity 
and  tender  seriousness  which  belong  to  Raphael’s  first  man- 
ner. Indeed,  they  possess  sufficient  merit  to  warrant  for 
their  author  a higher  position  than  has  been  hitherto  as- 
signed him  ; his  fame  being  so  completely  swallowed  up 
by  the  world-wide  reputation  of  his  marvellous  son.  His 
pictures  are  conscientiously  done,  with  great  refinement  of 
thought  and  manner,  but  little  variety  of  invention,  some 
stiffness  of  outline,  weakness  of  color,  but  with  pleasing 
expression,  and  perfect  purity  of  Christian  motive.  Gio- 
vanni died  in  1494,  too  early  to  triumph  in  his  child’s 
success,  to  whom  he  had  imparted  the  rudiments  of  his  art, 
and  by  whom  he  had  been  at  times  assisted  in  his  own 
paintings,  although  not  then  eleven  years  old. 

But  the  Umbrian  sentiment  finds  in  Francesco  Francia, 
or  Raibolini,  of  Bologna,  (1450—1517,)  a degree  of  per- 
fection which  no  other  artist  of  like  proclivity  of  feeling 
surpassed  or  even  equalled.  At  first  he  was  a goldsmith 
and  worker  of  metals.  He  did  not  turn  his  attention  to 
painting  until  his  forty-sixth  year.  However,  he  immedi- 
ately gave  such  evideuce  of  earnest  feeling,  beauty  of  color- 
ing, and  fineness  of  execution,  joined  to  his  previous 

knowledge  of  design,  as  to  promptly  acquire  a distin- 
ct 


322 


FRANCESCO  FRANCIA. 


guished  reputation,  and  to  attract  and  secure  the  friendship 
of  Raphael,  who  began  a correspondence  with  him,  and 
some  think  even  visited  him  at  Bologna  about  1506,  leav- 
ing traces  of  his  presence  in  the  studio  of  his  friend.  In 
1508,  at  his  request,  Francia  sent  him  his  portrait.  In 
acknowledging  the  receipt  of  it,  Raphael  writes  66  it  was  so 
naturally  and  beautifully  done  that  in  looking  upon  it  it  was 
easy  to  fancy  it  to  be  himself,  and  to  hear  him  converse.” 
Francia  painted  many  portraits,  in  general  resembling 
the  Florentine  manner  of  Raphael,  which  are  now  es- 
teemed only  second  to  those  of  that  master.  The  flesh 
tints  of  the  former  in  their  carnations  are  more  fresh  and 
lively,  and  so  is  the  blue  of  his  landscapes.  When 
Raphael  finished  his  “ St.  Cecilia,”  he  forwarded  it  to  Fran- 
cia, with  the  request  that  he  would  see  it  properly  hung, 
and  should  there  be  any  fault  in  it,  to  correct  it.  Higher 
testimony  of  confidence  and  appreciation  one  artist  could 
not  give  another.  In  a sonnet  addressed  to  his  friend, 
Francia  calls  him  the  “ Zeusi  del  nostro  secolo.”  * Yet 
our  gossip,  Vasari,  so  mistook  the  temper  of  both,  that  he 
would  have  us  believe  that  Francia’s  vexation  and  chagrin 
were  so  great  upon  receiving  a picture  thus  invidiously 
sent,  so  much  superior  to  his  own  works,  that  he  took  it  to 
heart,  and  died.  There  is  merit  enough  in  Francia  to  sat- 
isfy even  a mind  avid  of  fame  ; and  not  only  the  public  of 
that  day,  but  Raphael  himself,  had  generously  and  zeal- 
ously confessed  it.  Without  being  equal  to  his  younger 
rival,  in  more  than  one  point,  be  could  stand  a compari- 
son with  him.  Besides,  there  were  enough  other  causes 
to  take  off  an  infirm  old  man,  without  supposing  him  so 
destitute  of  magnanimity  as  to  permit  jealousy  to  sap  the 
foundations  of  life,  and  finally  extinguish  it,  there  being 
* Malvasia,  Vite  de  Pittori  Bolognese,  vol.  i.  p.  46.  Bologna,  1678. 


FRANCESCO  FRANCIA. 


323 


nothing-  in  his  general  character  to  justify  such  an  as- 
sertion, while  the  mutual  regard  of  the  parties  altogether 
forbids  it.  Francia  was  of  so  gentle  and  obliging  a dis- 
position, and  so  charming  in  conversation,  as  to  keep 
all  about  him  in  good-humor,  and  to  dispel  melancholy 
from  the  most  down-hearted.  These  amiable  character- 
istics of  his  temperament  are  everywhere  perceptible  in 
his  pictures.  Indeed,  few  if  any  artists  have  ever  spread 
their  charm  of  character  more  completely  over  their  works 
than  he.  Every  one  loved  him.  Foreign  cities  and 
princes  contested  the  privilege  of  pictures  at  his  hand.  In 
common  with  the  religious  masters  of  his  time,  he  concen- 
trates his  talents  upon  a limits1  range  of  topics.  And  he 
is  more  conspicuous  for  simple  dignity,  purity,  and  depth, 
united  to  a winsome  openness  of  manner,  letting  out  his 
entire  soul,  with  its  virgin  joys  and  thoughts,  at  one  glance, 
than  for  breadth,  variety  or  fertility.  Evidently,  too,  he  is 
more  laborious  than  facile,  ideal  in  his  conceptions,  and  aim- 
ing at  perfection  in  execution.  His  touch  is  peculiarly  fine, 
and  yet  full  of  meaning.  Eternal  peace  and  joy,  the  beatific 
sense  of  the  infinite,  the  transcendent  bliss  of  perfect  faith, 
characterize  his  sacred  personages.  His  Madonnas  are  of 
a full,  beautiful  type,  strictly  ideal,  graceful  and  womanly 
and  yet  purified  from  the  infirmities  of  the  flesh.  He  es- 
capes the  monotony  and  languor  of  Perugino,  with  whose 
general  sentiment  he  has  much  in  common.  Francia  has 
more  nobility  and  sincerity  of  soul ; consequently  a greater 
elevation  of  character  in  his  general  pictorial  types,  though 
the  best  of  Perugino’s  may  be  classed  with  his.  One  of 
his  best  compositions,  now  a greatly  injured  fresco  in  a 
small  church  at  Bologna,  is  the  u Marriage  of  St.  Cecilia.” 
In  its  extreme  refinement,  delicacy,  and  noble  character  of 
heads,  well-chosen  action,  and  entire  unity  of  feeling,  it 


324 


GIULIO  AND  GIACOMO  FRANCIA. 


recalls  another  marriage,  that  of  Eleonora  of  Portugal,  done 
by  Pinturicchio,  but  in  part  designed  by  Raphael.  Fran- 
cia’s  is  superior  in  grace  and  repose,  and  is  less  ornate. 

Francia  never  permits  superfluous  accessories  and  exces- 
sive ornamentation.  His  taste  in  this  respect  is  classical 
and  pure.  Draperies,  costumes,  movement,  and  back- 
ground are  always  in  admirable  harmony  with  his  leading 
motive.  With  him,  the  landscape  is  truly  charming;  simple, 
strictly  subordinate  to  the  foreground,  and  full  of  clear,  ethe- 
real light,  with  delicate  gradations  of  distance  and  aerial  per- 
spective. Unlike  Leonardo  and  his  school,  he  is  sparing 
of  minute  details.  A few  well-chosen  features  suggest  the 
variety  of  nature.  His  aim  is  repose.  Not  that  he  was 
incapable  of  dramatic  vigor,  or  a sympathy  with  the  more 
active  phenomena  of  being.  For  he  painted  a forest  on  fire, 
out  of  which  were  rushing  in  terror  a multitude  of  ani- 
mals, — a rare  and  almost  unexampled  topic  for  an  artist 
of  his  tone  of  mind,  and  to  be  compared  only  with  the  hur- 
ricane of  Ambrogio  Lorenzetti,  mentioned  by  Ghiberti, 
attempted  nearly  two  centuries  before.  Classical  subjects 
also  occasionally  came  within  his  scope,  such  as  the  u Lu- 
cretia  ” which  he  painted  for  one  of  the  neighboring  dukes. 
At  present,  beside  his  many  sacred  subjects,  we  have  left 
only  his  beautiful  portraits  to  attest  his  mastership.  He 
had  many  scholars  and  imitators,  though  none  to  be  classed 
with  him.  His  cousin  and  sons,  Giulio  and  Giacomo,  did 
works  which  without  the  means  of  direct  comparison  have 
passed  for  his. 

The  most  widely  known  of  the  Umbrians  is  Pietro  Van- 
nucci,  (1446—1524*,)  born  at  Citta  della  Pieve,  generally 
called  Perugino,  a name  derived  from  Perugia,  where  he 
finally  established  his  studio.  Few  painters  have  a more 
universally  spread  reputation,  and  few  have  experienced 


______  • ' ‘ ■ 'fTS’ 

* 

' 


PERUGINO. 


825 


more  diverse  misconceptions  from  critics ; one  class  invest- 
ing him  with  almost  saintly  honors,  from  a superficial 
view  of  his  works,  while  others,  taking  Vasari’s  state- 
ments in  their  worst  sense,  brand  him  as  an  atheist  and 
miser,  and  both  perhaps  are  inclined  to  estimate  his  genius, 
as  a whole,  at  a higher  value,  in  comparison  with  the  best 
of  his  contemporaries,  than  it  merits. 

Perugino,  with  one  exception,  his  “ Allegorical  Combat 
between  Love  and  Chastity,”  painted  only  religious  sub- 
jects, and  with  sufficient  feeling  and  after  a manner  that 
entitles  him  to  a place  under  the  present  head.  He  had 
one  of  those  common  temperaments,  too  largely  endowed 
with  caution  for  his  own  comfort  and  independence,  mak- 
ing him  unduly  solicitous  for  his  temporal  welfare,  self- 
denying  for  the  present,  to  be  beforehand  with  the  future, 
without  exalted  views  of  life,  relying  overmuch  upon  mate- 
rial prosperity,  and  greedy  of  fame  as  a means  of  promoting 
it.  While  young,  he  was  intensely  diligent  in  the  acqui- 
sition of  his  art,  extending  his  studies  late  into  the  night, 
cheerfully  undergoing  austere  privations,  heedless  of  cold, 
hunger,  fatigue,  or  comfort,  reckless  of  appearances,  sleep- 
ing for  many  months  upon  an  old  chest,  for  want  of  a 
proper  bed,  sustained  through  all  by  self-composed,  or  rather 
self-adapted,  proverbs,  to  wit,  that  “ a good  time  is  sure 
to  come  after  a bad,”  and  that  “ when  it  is  fair  weather  a 
man  must  build  his  house,  that  he  may  have  shelter  when 
he  needs  it.”  This  low,  selfish  tone,  so  different  from  the 
genuine  feeling  of  the  children  of  Art,  had  been  much 
strengthened  by  the  injudicious  maxims  and  incitements  of 
his  earliest  teacher,  an  indifferent  painter  of  Perugia,  who 
was  wont  to  set  before  him,  not  the  virtue  and  beauty  of 
the  high  calling  itself,  but  the  u advantages  and  honors  ” 
which  were  to  accrue  from  it ; so  that  the  greedy  boy, 


326 


PERUG1N0, 


whose  ears  had  drunk  in  every  word  which  related  to  the 
“ rewards  bestowed  on  the  various  masters,  ancient  and 
modern,”  would  quietly  steal  out  of  the  studio,  and  inquire 
of  the  strangers  that  frequented  Perugia,  “ in  what  city 
the  best  artists  were  formed  l ” Receiving  but  one  reply, 
“ Florence,”  he  thither  bent  his  steps,  and  there  set  himself 
perseveringly  to  the  acquirement  of  what  was  to  make  him 
rich  and  famous. 

This  provident  calculation  is  the  key  to  his  whole  career. 
Perugino’s  intellect  was  active  and  intelligent ; his  spirit 
timid  and  selfish ; his  will  firm ; and  his  moral  sentiments 
sufficient  to  keep  him  from  positive  evil  courses  ; a repu- 
table man,  though  not  enough  elevated  to  buoy  him  up 
above  the  level  of  a commonplace  existence. 

His  first  and  strongest  artistic  impressions  were  derived 
from  the  pure  mysticism  of  his  native  Umbria.  They  re- 
mained in  vigor  during  his  long  career,  and  he  had  sufficient 
creative  energy,  aided  by  a susceptible,  but  not  copious 
imagination,  to  produce  that  limited  series  of  sacred  sub- 
jects, always  ideally  treated  with  a leaning  towards  mysti- 
cism, whose  grace  and  tenderness  are  so  winning  to  people 
generally.  The  instinct  of  religion  was  deep  in  him.  A 
refined,  devotional  sentiment  pervades  his  best  heads.  He 
painted  sacred  themes  from  choice,  and  often  for  very 
inadequate  remuneration,  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  ac- 
cused of  losing  commissions  from  an  over-grasping  spirit. 
For  the  “ Adoration  of  the  Magi,”  that  beautiful  fresco  of 
his  birthplace,  he  received  only  seventy-five  golden  florins, 
and  for  the  labors  of  himself  and  pupils  for  years  on  the 
copious  frescoes  of  the  Collegio  del  Cambio  at  Perugia,  one 
of  his  most  brilliant  and  beautiful  works,  but  three  hundred 
and  fifty  golden  ducats,  literally  nominal  rewards,  both  in 
view  of  what  was  produced  for  those  prices,  and  of  the  sums 


PERUGINO. 


82  7 


paid  to  other  artists.  It  is  pleasant  to  record  this  of  him. 
His  spirituality  did  at  times  shine  forth,  but  the  tares  of 
life  grew  up  thicker  and  thicker  about  it,  until  it  became 
so  choked  and  distorted  as  to  be  scarcely  legible. 

Perugino’s  entire  artistic  capacity,  thus  burdened  by  in- 
ferior sentiments,  was  never  fully  expanded.  In  a limited 
sense  he  suggests  Raphael,  or  rather  one  phase  of  him. 
While  he  studied,  he  rapidly  improved.  His  pictures 
came  so  much  into  repute  as  to  be  eagerly  sought  for 
throughout  Europe,  and  were  bought  up  at  high  prices  by 
dealers  for  speculation.  This  coveted  position  attained,  the 
disastrous  effects  resulting  from  his  selfish  aims  soon  be- 
came apparent.  Viewing  his  reputation  chiefly  as  moneyed 
capital,  his  chief  anxiety  was  to  get  a large  return  from  it. 
Ultimately,  his  studio  degenerated  into  a manufactory. 
Scholars  were  hired  to  paint  from  his  designs,  though  not 
always  to  their  detriment,  for,  beside  Raphael,  there  were 
others  who  became  accomplished  masters.  Impatience  and 
sordid  habits  led  to  hasty  and  unequal  execution.  He  grew 
to  be  mannered,  monotonous,  affected  and  mechanical ; re- 
peating himself  within  a narrow  circle.  Nor  was  this  the 
worst.  For  as  he  voluntarily  lowered  his  position,  he  had 
the  mortification  to  perceive  other  artists  gaining  the  pub- 
lic esteem  he  once  merited.  Thereupon,  he  was  seized 
with  envy  and  moroseness,  giving  way  to  caustic  criticisms 
and  ill-natured  remarks,  desirous  of  covering  up  his  own 
degeneracy  by  depreciation  of  his  rivals.  Many  enemies 
and  much  trouble  were  the  fruits.  Michel  Angelo  pub- 
licly told  him  that  he  was  a dolt  and  blockhead.  Vexed 
beyond  measure,  Perugino  sought  reparation  at  law.  But 
the  magistrates  decided  in  favor  of  their  townsman,  and 
the  angry  painter  had  to  swallow  the  affront. 

There  was  reason  as  well  as  temper  in  the  severity  of 


PERUGINO. 


328 

Michel  Angelo.  Perugino,  in  systematically  degrading 
art  from  an  ignoble  motive,  had  made  himself  an  out- 
law to  all  who  considered  that  its  doty  was  ever  to  as- 
pire to  the  new  and  beautiful,  irrespective  of  mercenary 
calculations.  Some  allowance,  however,  is  due  him  on  ac- 
count of  the  perversions  of  early  training.  Like  Rem- 
brandt, his  evil  genius  obtained  the  mastery.  His  portrait 
in  the  Uffizi  suggests  an  interior  struggle  and  the  final  vic- 
tory of  the  worldly  element.  At  last  his  best  friends  began 
to  reproach  him  for  his  sordid  views,  his  increasing  weak- 
ness, and  want  of  originality,  particularly  conspicuous  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  “ Deposition,” # an  altar-piece  begun 
by  Filippino  Lippi,  and  which,  he  not  living  to  complete  it, 
Perugino  had  been  commissioned  to  finish.  He  peevishly 
replied  “ I have  painted  in  this  w'ork  the  figures  you  for- 
merly commended,  and  which  then  greatly  pleased  you ; if 
they  now  displease  you  and  you  no  longer  extol  them,  what 
can  I do  \ ” 

In  this  retrograde  course  the  pure  feeling  which  once  dis- 
tinguished his  brush  was  superseded  by  a superficial,  insipid 
sentiment,  wholly  artificial  and  without  energy.  Unfortu- 
nately, he  did  not  stop  on  this  level  of  descent.  For  in  the 
“Assumption,”')'  painted  in  1500  for  the  monks  of  Val- 
lombrosa,  he  indulges  in  vulgar  buffoonery,  than  which 
nothing  could  be  more  contemptuous  towards  the  tenet  he 
was  required  to  illustrate,  and  more  disgraceful  to  himself. 
In  Spain  it  would  have  cost  him  his  life.  The  lower  an- 
gels, floating  in  the  air,  with  one  hand  raised  towards  the 
Immaculate  Virgin,  slyly  point  with  the  other  to  their  ab- 
domens, whose  condition  represents  pregnancy.  Much 
carelessness  and  coarseness  are  to  be  seen  in  his  later 
works,  and  even  a mockery  of  divine  things,  as  if  disgusted 
* No.  57,  Florentine  Academy.  t No.  55,  Florentine  Academy. 


PERUGINO.  82  9 

with  his  art  and  faith,  and  yet  unwilling  to  forego  his  traf- 
fic in  them. 

Perugino  had  gained  great  riches  in  Florence,  and  was 
inclined  to  settle  there  permanently.  He  bought  and  built 
several  large  houses,  married  a young  and  beautiful  girl, 
and  selected  a family  sepulchre  in  the  Church  of  the  An- 
nunciata.  Several  children  had  been  born  to  him,  one  of 
whom,  probably  before  his  quarrel,  he  had  named  after 
Michel  Angelo.  But  his  enemies  continued  so  to  satirize 
and  annoy  him  that  he  returned  to  Perugia,  where  he  was 
without  rivals  or  foes.  He  painted  to  the  very  last,  dying 
in  his  seventy-eighth  year,  indulging  in  the  same  suspi- 
cious, unhappy  temper,  doubtless  a disappointed  man  from 
having  sought  treasure  exclusively  in  things  perishable,  in 
disregard  of  his  better  monitions. 

Not  long  before  this  happened,  he  was  accustomed  to 
carry  his  ready  money  about  his  person  for  greater  secu- 
rity, which,  becoming  known,  tempted  thieves  to  waylay 
and  rob  him,  his  life  being  spared  only  at  his  earnest  en- 
treaty “ for  the  love  of  God.”  The  greater  part  was  re- 
covered, but  Vasari  says  he  took  it  so  much  to  heart  as  to 
wellnigh  die  of  grief.  Immediately  after,  he  accuses  him 
of  not  believing  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  of  irreligion, 
and  of  obstinately  refusing  all  good  counsel,  “ with  words 
suited  to  the  stubbornness  of  his  marble-hard  brain.”  His 
refusal  of  the  sacraments  when  dying,  because,  as  he  is  re- 
ported to  have  said,  with  Voltarian  wit,  he  was  curious  to 
ascertain  the  fate  of  a soul  that  had  never  confessed,  was 
quite  sufficient  to  cause  him  to  be  branded  as  an  infidel, 
and  to  provoke  uncharitable  censures  and  eternal  damnation 
from  every  churchman.  But  in  a letter  to  Isabella  d’Este, 
accompanying  his  allegorical  picture  of  the  u Combat  be- 
tween Love  and  Chastity,”  now  in  the  Louvre,  he  writes 


330 


PERUGINO. 


“ I pray  God  most  humbly  to  grant  me  the  grace  to  have 
done  something  which  shall  be  agreeable  to  your  highness,” 
concluding  with  u May  Christ  preserve  you  in  happiness! 
Atheists  and  hard-headed  men  of  his  stamp  are  neither 
courtiers  nor  hypocrites.  So  we  may  accept  these  expres- 
sions and  the  66  Timete  Deum  ” inscribed  upon  his  portrait, 
whether  by  himself  or  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  as  significant  in 
him  of  an  ineradicable  religious  instinct. 

His  various  devices  for  and  success  in  making  money, 
to  the  sacrifice  of  conscientious  work,  and  his  zealous,  un- 
artistic  care  of  it,  gave  him,  as  has  been  the  case  with 
Turner  in  our  time,  the  reputation  of  being  a miser.  That 
he  was  indifferent  to  the  ceremonial  ordinances  of  religion, 
though  not  from  disbelief  in  a future  life,  but  from  his  in- 
sensibility  to  its  nearness,  and  still  more  from  his  contempt 
for  the  hypocrisies  and  meannesses  which  were  but  too  com- 
mon among  many  ecclesiastics  with  whom  he  had  to  do,  there 
can  be  little  doubt.  Hence  the  scarecrow  epithet  of  athe- 
ist. Perugino  probably  was  one  of  those  honest,  reflecting, 
soured  minds,  hating  shams,  in  whom  the  untoward  cir- 
cumstances of  this  life  choke  up  the  avenues  of  spiritual 
light,  and  cause  a reaction  perilous  for  their  souls.  And 
no  class  of  circumstances  are  more  powerful  to  work  mis- 
chief in  them  than  the  dishonesty  of  the  clergy  to  their 
sacred  trusts. 

That  Perugino  had  innate  nobility  of  soul  much  of  his 
art  evinces.  An  anecdote  speaks  well  also  both  for  his  wit 
and  moral  judgment.  He  was  employed  to  paint  several 
cloisters  of  a convent  in  Florence.  As  the  Prior  was 
skilled  in  preparing  the  costly  ultramarine,  he  agreed  to 
furnish  it.  Nevertheless,  he  was  so  suspicious  and  stingy 
that  he  would  not  trust  Perugino  to  use  it  out  of  his 
* Carteggio  de  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  168. 


PERUGINO. 


33 1 


sight,  lest  he  should  steal  a portion.  The  painter  deter- 
mined to  give  him  a salutary  lesson.  So  placing  beside 
him  a bowl  of  water,  whenever  he  had  occasion  to  use 
the  blue,  he  called  upon  the  Prior  to  pour  it  out  into  the 
vase  from  which  he  took  the  color.  Dipping  his  brush 
very  often  into  it,  at  every  second  stroke  he  rinsed  it  off 
in  the  bowl  of  water.  The  Prior,  seeing  his  store  vanish- 
ing rapidly  and  the  work  advancing  slowly,  kept  exclaim- 
ing “ Oh ! what  a quantity  of  ultramarine  is  swallowed 
up  by  this  plaster.”  Perugino  would  reply  “You  see  for 
yourself  how  it  is.”  At  last  the  Prior  went  away  in  dis- 
gust. As  soon  as  he  was  gone  Perugino  gathered  the 
ultramarine  which  had  subsided  to  the  bottom  of  the  bowl 
and  returned  it  to  the  owner,  observing  “ This  belongs  to 
you,  father ; learn  to  trust  honest  men,  for  such  never  de- 
ceive those  who  confide  in  them,  although  they  well  know 
how  to  circumvent  distrustful  persons  like  yourself,  when 
they  desire  to  do  so.”  Even  Vasari,  with  all  his  horror  at 
Perugino’s  impiety  and  dislike  to  him  generally,  admits 
that  he  “ was  by  nature  upright  and  honest,  and  in  no  way 
covetous  of  another  man’s  goods.” 

Independent  of  the  Umbrian  tone  of  his  compositions, 
Perugino  is  decidedly  individualistic.  His  frescoes  in  the 
Sistine  Chapel  and  some  of  his  earlier  works  are  slight- 
ly Florentine  in  their  composition,  draperies,  and  side- 
groups  of  spectators.  At  Perugia,  in  his  “Adoration  of 
the  Magi,”  he  introduces  his  own  portrait.  But  these  ex- 
amples are  exceptional.  His  proper  style  in  its  best  estate 
is  simple,  ideal,  graceful,  and  tender ; ecstatic  in  feeling, 
evidently  drawn  more  from  his  imagination  than  from  na- 
ture. His  smaller  figures  are  sometimes  disproportionately 
tall  and  flexible,  with  heads  awry,  a legacy  of  the  Giot- 
teschi,  and  his  children  as  models  too  frequently  heavy  and 


332 


PERUGINO. 


vulgar.  Adult  figures  in  general  are  treated  in  a superior 
manner ; while  the  round,  thoughtful  eyes  of  both,  purity 
and  earnestness  of  expression,  and  languishment  of  attitude, 
as  if  drunk  with  mystic  longings  and  contemplations  of 
unearthly  joys,  hint  at  the  unfathomed  yearnings  of  his 
own  soul. 

Very  many  of  his  pictures  have  suffered  much  from  bad 
restorations,  and  their  primitive  delicacy  of  tones  and  well- 
harmonized,  clear,  strong  tints,  are  irretrievably  darkened. 
The  rich,  full  folds  of  his  draperies  are  more  akin  to  the 
treatment  of  the  Venetians  than  to  the  anatomical  precision 
and  freer  movement  of  the  Florentine  painters.  His  an- 
gels are  the  beings  of  no  sex,  closely  draped  and  usually 
with  a half  running  motion,  the  great  toes  curiously  turned 
up,  lacking  grace  and  truth  of  design,  but  overflowing  with 
humility  and  devotion.  Dramatic  energy  he  seldom 
reaches,  though  there  are  figures  that  savor  of  the  gran- 
deur of  Luca  Signorelli.  Historical  composition  and  por- 
traiture, occupying  as  they  did  the  best  contemporary  pen- 
cils of  the  Florentines,  involving  severe  studies  from  nature, 
had  no  attractions  for  him.  The  ecstatic,  pathetic  and  pic- 
turesque in  perfect  repose ; the  lyric  side  of  painting ; fee- 
ble in  variety  of  speech  but  sparkling  in  color  and  adorn- 
ment, are  his  captivating  points.  His  landscapes  also  have 
the  best  qualities  of  the  Christian  masters ; fine  gradations 
of  clear  sky,  broad  and  peaceful  aspects  of  a cultivated 
country,  hill  and  plain,  stream  and  city ; few  but  well-de- 
fined and  pleasingly  combined  features,  letting  the  eye 
roam  over  much  space.  All  this  class  of  men  love  dis- 
tance, cloudless  horizons,  the  sparkle  of  sunshine,  and  the 
life-giving  forms  and  colors  of  vegetation. 

Despite  his  faults,  Perugino  impressed  himself  very 
strongly  upon  his  generation.  His  scholars,  including 


t 


' 

. 


V 


LORENZO  DI  CREDI. 


833 


Raphael,  who  always  revered  him,  were  distinguished  ar- 
tists themselves.  They  extended  and  perpetuated  his  style 
in  various  directions,  and  although  ultimately  they  passed 
over  to  the  more  matured  development  of  Raphael  and  the 
scientific  methods  of  Leonardo,  yet  they  never  entirely 
freed  themselves  from  the  influence  of  their  old  chief. 
Among  those  who  rank  highest,  little  known  on  account 
of  the  rarity  of  his  works,  is  Giovanni,  called  Lo  Spagna 
from  his  nationality.  He  has  much  grandeur,  severity,  and 
feeling,  with  deep,  warm  coloring,  approaching  the  Vene- 
tian of  the  Bellinis.  His  heads  are  noble,  formed  in  the 
school  of  Ferugino,  but  of  a character  and  dignity  pecu- 
liarly his  own,  and  entitling  them  to  rank  second  only  to 
the  kindred  efforts  of  his  distinguished  fellow-pupil.  In- 
deed, his  merit  provoked  so  much  jealousy  in  the  painters 
of  Perugia  that  he  was  compelled  to  take  refuge  in  Spoleto. 
This  was  about  1516.  Here  he  married  a lady  of  good 
family,  received  the  rights  of  citizenship,  was  much  esteemed, 
and  left  his  masterpiece,  the  Madonna  enthroned  surrounded 
by  saints,  now  in  the  church  of  Sta.  Maria  degli  Angeli. 

The  religious  sentiment,  which  in  Perugino  has  so  often 
an  irregular  and  wanton  expression,  found  in  Lorenzo  di 
Credi  (1459-1537),  of  Florence,  a consistent  and  pure  in- 
terpretation. He  is  always  equal,  refined,  and  exalted. 
The  careful  finish  of  his  pictures  ranks  him  next  to  Leo- 
nardo, whose  intimate  friend  he  was,  and  with  whom  he 
began  his  artistic  education  in  the  studio  of  Verrocchio. 
Diligent  and  conscientious  in  his  work  to  a degree  rare  in 
any  age ; in  character  obliging  and  gentlemanly ; he  was 
one  of  those  exemplary  Christians  whose  religion  partakes 
rather  of  deeds  than  catechism.  In  consequence  he  was 
frequently  chosen  as  a referee  in  various  matters,  particu- 
larly to  esteem  the  works  of  other  artists.  This  delicate 


334 


LORENZO  DI  CREDI. 


position,  demanding  from  rivals  entire  confidence  in  his 
candor  and  judgment,  seems  never  to  have  been  disputed. 
Upon  his  departure  for  Venice,  Verrocchio  left  him  in  com- 
plete control  of  his  business  and  income,  and  on  his  return 
was  so  much  pleased  with  his  administration  that,  had  not 
Lorenzo  absolutely  refused,  he  would  have  made  him  his 
heir.  As  it  was  he  named  him  chief  legatee.  On  several 
occasions  he  journeyed  to  Venice,  to  give  to  Verrocchio 
a personal  account  of  his  trust.  Upon  his  master’s  death 
in  that  city,  he  piously  brought  home  his  remains,  and  in 
the  same  upright  and  disinterested  spirit  that  had  charac- 
terized him  throughout,  handed  over  to  the  legal  heirs  all 
the  property  which  had  been  confided  to  him.  And  it  is 
worthy  of  notice,  as  showing  the  steadfastness  of  his  char- 
acter, that  the  sensuous  charms  of  Venetian  coloring  do  not 
seem  to  have  made  the  slightest  impression  upon  his  style, 
though  the  visit  of  Fra  Bartolomeo  — pietist  as  he  was 
— to  Venice  was  not  without  influence  upon  his. 

Di  Credi’s  life  is  exhibited  in  his  art.  Beautiful, 
peaceful,  and  virtuous,  it  glided  on,  devoid  of  other  inci- 
dent than  the  love  and  friendship  of  his  associates  and  the 
esteem  of  his  fellow-citizens.  Although  neither  of  an  ar- 
dent nor  impressible  nature,  he  was  persuaded  to  do  vio- 
lence to  his  own  taste,  and  in  conjunction  with  the  repentant 
Botticelli,  Fra  Bartolomeo,  and  other  converts  to  the  revi- 
val of  strict  purism  in  art,  to  add  to  that  costly  fanatical 
holocaust  inspired  by  the  preachings  of  Savonarola  * all 
his  studies  of  the  nude  and  every  design  and  work  not  ap- 
proved by  the  rigorous  criticism  of  the  Dominican  monk. 
Unlike,  however,  most  Protestant  reformers,  Savonarola 
was  far  from  wishing  to  repudiate  art  in  the  service  of  re- 

* See  Art-Hints,  chap.  14,  for  an  account  of  “The  Struggle”  between  pro- 
fane and  religious  art. 


SAVONAROLA. 


335 


ligion.  His  real  desire  was  to  purify  and  reconsecrate  it 
to  the  uses  of  the  sanctuary  and  the  promotion  of  morality 
and  piety.  Possibly  the  zeal  of  his  disciples  outstripped 
his  sounder  judgment,  and  many  works  perished  which  art 
and  literature  have  cause  to  regret.  It  is  said  that  a Ve- 
netian  merchant  offered  in  vain  a large  sum  to  save  them 
from  the  fiery  sacrifice,  as  a speculation  for  other  parts  of 
Italy.  With  the  stern  principles  of  Savonarola  no  such 
compromise  could  be  even  hearkened  to.  It  was  indeed  a 
severe  test  of  the  sincerity  of  his  converts.  Books,  manu- 
scripts, statuary,  paintings,  objects  of  a corrupt  luxury,  the 
wanton  song  and  obscene  design,  every  article  endeared 
to  its  possessor  by  cost  or  association,  even  many  of  those 
which  under  the  most  rigorous  modern  censorship  are  per- 
mitted to  be  publicly  exposed  or  to  rest  unreproved  in  pri- 
vate hands,  as  well  as  numerous  others  which  well  merited 
this  fiery  winnowing,  were  voluntarily  heaped  upon  the 
consuming  flames,  at  the  call  of  little  children,  who  went 
from  house  to  house  for  that  purpose,  chanting  sacred 
songs.  The  age  had  grown  very  licentious,  and  although 
not  to  the  degree  that  subsequently  prevailed  under  the  di- 
rect influences  of  the  more  matured  revived  classicalism, 
both  art  and  literature  had  largely  ministered  to  the  preva- 
lent erotic  vices,  which  called  down  the  denunciations  of 
Savonarola.  To  whatever  excess  of  destruction  the  want 
of  discrimination  in  drawing  the  precise  line  between  the 
base  and  noble  may  have  led  his  followers,  he  himself  rec- 
ognized thoroughly  and  eloquently  advocated  the  subtle 
principle  that  underlies  all  that  is  really  beautiful  and  true  in 
art.  “ Creatures,”  he  remarked  in  one  of  his  popular  ser- 
mons, “ are  beautiful  in  proportion  as  they  participate  in 
and  approximate  to  the  beauty  of  their  Creator;  and  per- 
fection of  form  is  relative  to  beauty  of  mind.  Bring  hither 


SS6 


LORENZO  D I CREDI. 


two  women  equally  perfect  in  person ; let  one  be  a saint 
and  the  other  a sinner.  You  shall  find  that  the  saint  will 
he  more  generally  loved  than  the  sinner,  and  that  on  her 
all  eyes  will  be  directed.”  # 

Lorenzo  di  Credi  could  not  fail  to  sympathize  in  the  po- 
litical and  religious  views  of  Savonarola.  However  rigid, 
they  were  sincere  and  patriotic ; exaggerated  also  by  the 
licentious  and  tyrannical  character  of  the  opposite  faction 
directed  by  the  Medici,  which  for  a while  they  successfully 
stemmed,  but  only  to  make  their  final  overthrow  the  more 
thorough  and  disastrous.  With  their  downfall  ended  that 
power  over  the  public  mind  which  mystic  art,  in  its  best 
religious  sense,  had  hitherto  exercised  through  the  long 
line  of  distinguished  artists  from  Giotto  to  Raphael,  and  of 
whom  Lorenzo  was  one  of  the  purest  and  most  single- 
minded  examples.  Thenceforth,  naturalism,  pseudo-classi- 
calism,  and  sensualism  swayed  art  after  their  own  unregu- 
lated desires ; in  their  own  likeness  they  created  it.  But 
as  yet  we  have  still  a little  time  left  to  worship  the  true  be- 
fore bowing  down  to  idolatrous  images.  And  as  Lorenzo 
di  Credi’s  art  was  exclusively  devoted  to  religion  — occa- 
sional portraits  scarcely  rank  as  an  exception  when  we 
consider  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  executed  — so  his 
career  was  thoroughly  consistent  with  it.  By  nature  and 
self-discipline  he  was  fitted  to  he  a citizen  of  that  demo- 
cratic republic  whose  sole  sovereign  was  proclaimed  to  he 
Jesus  Christ.  But  he  was  one  of  a fearful  minority.  Hu- 
manity was  no  more  ripe  in  Italy  in  the  fifteenth  century 
than  it  is  in  America  in  the  nineteenth  for  each  man’s 
heart  to  he  his  code  of  law ; a divine  President  over  all ; 
men  proving  by  their  well-doing  and  well-being  that  that 
government  is  best  which  governs  least.  The  world  is  still 
* Dennistoun,  vol.  ii.  p.  102. 


LORENZO  DI  CREDI. 


S3  7 


far  from  this  condition,  however  perfectly  a few  individuals 
may  realize  it  in  themselves.  Florence  was  then  prolific 
in  rowdies ; fanatics  of  irreligion  and  religion,  and  devotees 
of  selfishness.  So  the  fabric  fell,  because  its  foundations 
were  but  sand. 

Lorenzo  di  Credi  confines  himself  to  a few  simple  varia- 
tions of  the  usual  religious  themes.  His  holy  personages 
are  wondrously  tranquil,  beatific,  of  a chastened,  mild,  ideal 
beauty,  with  but  slight  force  of  character  and  no  dramatic 
tendency,  — in  fine,  mere  incarnations  of  his  own  religious 
emotions.  In  color  and  finish  he  is  a thorough  purist ; al- 
most cold  and  hard,  yet  singularly  clear  and  attractive.  So 
stringent  is  his  chastity  that  he  clothes  his  St.  Sebastian 
and  puts  the  arrows  into  his  hands.  Throughout  all  his 
works  there  is  a tender,  devotional  sadness ; a sort  of  sub- 
jection of  ecstatic  joy  to  the  reminiscences  of  a suffering, 
sinful  world,  yet  full  of  accomplished  hope  and  realized 
faith.  The  full,  sweet,  graceful  contours  of  his  angels,  and 
their  subdued  happiness,  as  if  the  glory  of  celestial  life 
overpowered  them,  are  admirable  in  their  way.  Beside 
his,  Perugino’s  are  awkward  and  vulgar  in  action.  They 
do  not  understand  celestial  locomotion,  but  sustain  them- 
selves by  violent  effort.  Credi’s  float  lightly  in  the  air,  as 
if  really  ethereal.  His  best  are  in  his  “ Baptism  of  Christ,” 
in  the  church  of  St.  Dominico  at  Fiesole.  They  are  kneel- 
ing, awaiting  the  call  of  the  Saviour.  This  picture,  per- 
fectly preserved,  is  also  worthy  of  examination  on  account 
of  its  fine,  characteristic  landscape.  Florence  is  in  the 
mid-distance,  and  in  the  foreground  a river  winding  be- 
tween hills,  reflects  in  its  limpid  depths  the  quiet  variety  of 
banks,  trees,  and  towers,  borrowed  from  his  favorite  haunts 
in  the  picturesque  country  that  environs  the  capital  of  Tus- 
cany. Credi  rarely  puts  his  Madonnas  and  personages  in- 


338 


FRA  BARTOLOMEO. 


doors.  He  loves  the  bright,  open  air,  flowers,  and  all  that 
is  pure  and  peaceful  in  nature.  His  favorite  themes  are 
the  most  touching  events  in  the  life  of  Christ,  which  are 
treated  with  wonderful  simplicity  of  composition.  Vasari, 
quaintly  but  with  much  truth,  sums  up  his  encomium  on 
him  by  observing  that  he  was  so  “ cleanly  and  finished  in 
his  work  that  every  other  painting  in  comparison  with  his 
seemed  sketchy  and  untidy,”  telling  us  that  he  had  a sepa- 
rate pencil  for  every  tint,  graduating  them  so  skilfully  as 
often  to  have  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  shades  of  color 
upon  his  palette  at  once.  He  is  said  to  have  followed 
Leonardo’s  earlier  method  so  successfully  as  to  have  had 
some  of  his  pictures  mistaken  for  his  friend’s.  Believing 
in  the  efficacy  of  Agur’s  prayer,  he  was  neither  ambitious 
nor  desirous  of  wealth,  but  content  with  a modest  income, 
which  he  discreetly  spent  in  Christian  offices,  dying  in  his 
seventy-eighth  year,  in  the  same  serene  spirit  in  which  he 
had  always  lived. 

Fra  Bartolomeo  (1469—1517),  nicknamed  “ Baccio  della 
Porta  - — Bat  of  the  Gate,”  from  his  long  residence  near  the 
Porta  Romana  of  Florence,  was  an  artist  of  similar  relig- 
ious feeling  and  limited  range,  but  of  more  striking  quali- 
ties and  grander  conceptions.  His  first  master  was 
Cosimo  Rosselli,  but  attracted  by  the  genius  of  Leonardo, 
he  closely  studied  his  works,  and  made  such  rapid  progress 
as  in  a very  short  time  to  rank  as  one  of  the  most  promis- 
ing of  the  young  painters. 

Vasari  paints  his  character  in  a few  words  : “ He  was 
much  beloved,  not  only  for  his  talents,  but  for  his  many 
excellent  qualities ; industrious,  quiet,  upright,  and  fearing 
God ; he  chose  a retired  life,  shunned  vice,  delighted  in 
listening  to  the  sermons  of  pious  men,  and  always  sought 
the  society  of  the  learned  and  sober  ; ” and  adds,  as  a reason 


FRA  BARTOLOMEO. 


339 


for  his  having  left  unfinished  a certain  fresco,  that  “ our 
artist  had  a greater  inclination  for  the  practices  of  religious 
worship  than  for  painting.” 

With  such  a disposition,  the  life  of  a monk  had  more 
attractions  for  him  than  any  other  career.  Long  before  he 
assumed  the  habit,  he  had  been  accustomed  to  spend  most 
of  his  time  in  the  convent  of  San  Marco,  listening  to  the 
exhortations  of  Savonarola,  forming  a close  intimacy  with 
him  and  others  of  the  fraternity.  When  the  convent  was 
attacked  by  the  enemies  of  the  preacher,  he,  with  five  hun- 
dred of  his  adherents,  went  to  his  defence.  But  the  vio- 
lence and  bloodshed  he  witnessed  so  shocked  his  timid 
temperament,  that  he  lost  heart,  and  vowed  that  if  he  es- 
caped from  the  strife,  he  would  become  a Dominican.  The 
experience  he  had  acquired  of  the  outside  world  was  not  at 
all  to  his  liking.  He  preferred  the  safety  and  solitude  of  a 
cell  to  the  hazards  of  active  partisanship  and  the  license  of 
the  triumphant  faction.  As  soon  as  possible  he  got  away 
to  Prato,  where,  on  the  £6th  July,  1500,  he  took  the 
irrevocable  vows,  to  the  infinite  regret  of  his  friends,  the 
more  especially  that  he  had  resolved  to  abandon  painting. 
He  even  refused  to  finish  his  fresco  of  the  “ Last  Judgment,” 
begun  in  the  chapel  of  the  Hospital  of  Sta.  Maria  Nuova, 
which  even  in  its  present  ruined  condition  is  highly  inter- 
esting, though  hardly  deserving  the  extravagant  praise  of 
Vasari,  who  says  of  it,  “ there  scarcely  could  be  anything 
better  effected  by  the  art  of  the  painter.”  He  saw  it,  how- 
ever, in  all  its  freshness,  after  its  completion  by  Alberti- 
nelli,  at  the  solicitation  of  Fra  Bartolomeo,  whose  conscience 
continued  to  trouble  him,  as  he  had  received  money  on  its 
account.  Portraits  of  himself,  Fra  Angelico,  and  other 
brethren,  placed  among  the  saved,  may  stdl  be  traced 
in  it. 


340 


FRA  BARTOLOMEO. 


During  two  years,  Fra  Bartolomeo  steadily  refused  to 
touch  his  pencil.  Finally,  the  urgent  entreaties  of  his  as- 
sociates, the  repeated  requests  of  his  Superior,  which  were  of 
the  nature  of  commands,  and  the  influence  of  the  youthful 
Raphael,  who  had  just  come  to  Florence,  overcame  his 
obstinacy,  and,  after  securing  a dispensation  from  his  of- 
fices in  the  choir,  and  a part  of  his  other  monastic  duties,  he 
consented  once  more  to  paint,  stipulating,  however,  that  his 
gains  should  go  to  the  convent,  except  enough  to  keep  him 
supplied  with  the  required  materials. 

His  artistic  ambition  now  reawakened,  he  applied  him- 
self with  more  earnestness  than  ever  to  his  studies.  The 
friendship  which  Raphael  had  formed  with  him  was  of 
mutual  benefit.  He  learned  from  the  Frate  greater  free- 
dom of  design  and  more  vigorous  coloring,  in  turn  impart- 
ing to  the  monk  those  exercises  in  perspective  which  he 
had  acquired  under  the  training  of  Perugino.  Fra  Barto- 
lomeo, impressed  with  the  advantages  of  direct  studies  from 
nature,  employed  models.  He  also  constructed  for  him- 
self the  now  well-known  lay-figure,  common  to  every  studio, 
but  then  novel,  for  the  arrangement  of  draperies,  striving 
to  adapt  the  technical  methods  and  aims  of  the  naturalistic 
painters  to  the  lofty  sentiment  of  religious  art. 

Having  become  excited  by  the  reports  from  Rome  of  its 
marvels  in  painting,  particularly  the  works  of  Raphael  and 
Michel  Angelo,  he  asked  leave  of  the  Prior  to  journey 
thither,  that  he  might  judge  for  himself  of  what  he  had 
heard.  On  his  arrival  in  the  Eternal  City,  instead  of  being 
inspired  and  encouraged  by  its  examples  of  ancient  and 
modern  art,  he  was  overwhelmed.  It  led  him  to  depre- 
ciate his  own  abilities,  and  he  hastily  returned  to  Florence, 
to  the  more  congenial  atmosphere  of  monastic  seclusion, 
leaving  to  Raphael  to  finish  one  of  the  two  pictures  he  had 


FRA  BARTOLOMEO. 


84 1 

begun  at  Rome.  The  art  of  Rome  overpowered  the  weak 
spirit  of  Andrea  del  Sarto  in  a similar  manner,  though  to 
the  truly  strong,  it  is  a prolific  incentive  to  exertion.  Paul 
Veronese  felt  his  powers  expand  under  the  same  influences 
that  discouraged  Andrea  and  the  Frate. 

In  his  own  circle,  Fra  Bartolomeo  had  more  courage. 
For,  having  often  been  reproached  with  inability  to  paint 
the  nude,  he  tried  a St.  Sebastian  entirely  un draped,  which 
had  so  much  manly  beauty,  correct  design,  and  warm,  life- 
like tints,  finished  with  great  delicacy  and  thoroughness,  as 
to  wholly  do  away  the  charge,  and  to  astonish  both  artists 
and  amateurs.  Alas  for  his  conscientious  scruples  ! His 
success  was  a discovery  to  himself,  as  well  as  his  friends. 
After  all,  his  nature  and  genius  were  so  like  other  men’s 
that  conventual  restrictions  and  discipline  alone  kept  him 
from  being  of  the  world  at  large  ; neither  better  nor  worse. 
Flight  and  cover  were  alike  indispensable  to  his  timid  piety 
and  art.  It  was  shortly  discovered  by  means  of  the  confes- 
sional, as  Vasari  delicately  phrases  it,  64  that  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  the  vivid  imitation  of  life  imparted  to  his  work 
by  the  talents  of  Fra  Bartolomeo  had  given  occasion  to 
light  and  evil  thoughts.”  Consequently,  the  picture  was 
sold  from  the  church  to  a merchant,  who  sent  it  to  the 
King  of  France,  by  whose  not  prudish,  courtly  dames  no 
doubt  it  was  duly  and  discreetly  admired.  As  it  has 
since  disappeared,  we  cannot  now  decide  if  the  artist, 
in  his  zeal  to  disprove  the  charge  made  against  his  skill, 
perhaps  mischievously  put  by  those  who  read  him  better 
than  he  did  himself,  had  imparted  overmuch  sensual  beauty 
to  his  saint.  May  not  its  suggestiveness  have  sprung  from 
the  carnal  appetites  of  the  fair  penitents  themselves  \ Be 
that  as  it  may,  there  is  no  approach  in  any  other  of  his 
paintings  to  a low  sentiment.  His  Magdalens,  indeed,  in 


842 


MAR  I OTTO  ALBERTINELLI. 


their  passionate  penitence,  are  all  that  they  should  be,  while 
their  forms  and  features,  particularly  the  development 
given  to  their  bosoms,  would  argue  that  he  closely  followed 
models  of  ordinary  womanhood,  without  imitating  the  usual 
practice  of  ascetic  masters  in  divesting  them  of  every  charm 
that  savored  of  the  flesh.  In  this  respect,  his  women 
are  more  life-like  than  the  types  of  Lorenzo  di  Credi, 
Francia,  or  even  Perugino,  yet  they  rightly  touch  the  sym- 
pathies, without  undue  suggestion  of  fleshly  instincts.  It  is 
evident  that  his  proclivities  were  to  the  natural  and  sensu- 
ous ; so  that  he  nobly  triumphed  in  a double  sense  : first, 
over  the  sceptics  of  his  artistic  powers,  and  secondly  over 
his  own  bias  towards  the  seductive,  increasing,  popular 
taste  for  the  sensual,  which  was  overcoming  many  distin- 
guished artists,  and  even  influencing,  as  far  as  might  be, 
Raphael. 

Furthermore,  the  Frate  was  passionately  fond  of  music. 
This  trait,  his  warm  coloring,  and  his  friendships,  first  for 
Raphael  and  then,  the  closest  of  all,  for  Mariotto  Alberti- 
nelli  ( 1 47^—1 5£0  *?),  point  to  an  undercurrent  of  disposi- 
tion quite  the  opposite  of  the  usual  ascetic  inspiration. 
Mariotto  was  a hater  of  the  monks ; a restless  vagrant, 
loving  a good  table  and  the  pleasures  of  Cupid,  “ car- 
nale  nelle  cose  d ’ amore .”  Moreover,  he  was  impatient 
of  study,  and  horribly  bored  by  the  exigences  of  his 
art.  His  chronicler  thus  gossips  of  him : “ He  was  fre- 
quently not  a little  annoyed  by  the  tongues  of  his  brother 
artists,  who  tormented  him,  as  their  custom  is  and  ahvays 
has  been , the  habit  descending  from  one  to  another  by  inher- 
itance, and  being  maintained  in  perpetual  activity .”  This 
sort  of  malicious  mother-wit  has  degenerated  neither  in 
Florence  nor  Rome  since  Vasari  s time,  and  is  still  as  pun- 
gent and  annoying  to  the  unphilosophical  or  unamiable  as 


ALBERT1NELLI. 


343 


ever.  It  caused  so  much  smart  to  Albertinelli  that  in  dis- 
gust he  gave  up  the  brush,  and  took  to  the  more  genial  oc- 
cupation of  innkeeper,  affirming  that  he  would  not  any  more 
be  bothered  with  perspective,  foreshortening,  or  muscles, 
and  what  was  much  worse,  censure.  Whereas  he  formerly 
imitated  flesh  and  blood,  he  now  made  it,  by  the  aid  of 
good  wine,  whose  praises  daily  rejoiced  his  ears.  But  this 
debasement  was  only  momentary.  His  experience  as 
Boniface  soon  reconciled  him  to  being  once  more  an  artist, 
and  he  continued  to  do  great  credit  to  the  school  in  which 
he  had  been  instructed. 

Albertinelli’s  politics,  like  his  character,  were  of  the 
Medicean  cast,  but  so  far  from  alienating  the  monk  from 
him,  they  grew  to  be  as  inseparable  as  twin  brothers.  He 
adopted  his  style  and  methods,  confining  himself  to  relig- 
ious topics,  without  much  real  feeling,  however,  inclining, 
as  in  his  44  Annunciation  ” and  44  Holy  Virgin  enthroned,”  # 
to  tlie  meretricious,  but  showing  grace,  dignity,  and  excel- 
lent coloring  in  his  44  Salutation  of  Mary  and  Elizabeth,”  of 
the  Uffizi.  In  his  works  there  is  an  evident  commingling 
of  two  qualities  of  motives  and  feeling,  and  it  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  adjudge  to  the  Frate  and  himself  that  which  is  di- 
rectly born  of  each.  But  there  is  no  reciprocal  influence 
upon  the  art  of  the  Frate.  He  stands  entirely  on  his 
own  foundation.  When  Bartolomeo  decided  to  become  a 
monk,  Albertinelli  went  wellnigh  distracted.  His  love  for 
his  sober-minded,  faint-hearted  friend,  surcharged  as  he 
was  with  ascetic  habits,  was  more  like  that  of  a lover 
for  his  mistress  than  of  a man  for  one  of  his  own  sex. 
Life  became  a burden.  For  a long  time  he  was  inconsola- 
bly wretched,  and  even  proposed  to  take  orders  himself  that 
he  might  always  be  near  Fra  Bartolomeo.  But  when  it 
* Florentine  Academy,  Nos.  72  and  73. 


344  HIS  FRIENDSHIP  FOR  THE  FRATE. 

came  to  the  test  he  could  not  overcome  his  repugnance  to 
the  brethren  whom  he  had  always  vituperated.  Eventually, 
Fra  Bartolomeo  rejoined  him  in  an  artistic  copartnership, 
and  they  painted  many  things  in  common,  as  the  records 
of  San  Marco  prove,  in  assigning  to  either  party  the  share 
due  from  joint  earnings. 

The  intimacy  between  the  pious  monk  and  the  jovial  inn- 
keeper, seemingly  so  inconsistent,  shows  that  restraint  needs 
in  every  case  some  safety-valve,  and  that  deficiency  in  one 
mind  naturally  seeks  its  equilibrium  from  another.  Hence 
it  is  that  the  purest-minded,  and  most  devout  women 
often  find  much  to  like  or  admire  in  those  whose  tone  of 
character  is  quite  foreign  to  their  own,  or,  lacking  oppor- 
tunity of  personal  intercourse  with  worldly  minds,  indulge 
in  profuse  perusal  of  those  novels  that  deal  most  deeply 
with  carnal  passions  and  dramatic  scenes.  Such  imagina- 
tions seek  instruction,  amusement,  or  exercise,  either  through 
the  medium  of  an  opposite  temperament,  but  kindred  spirit, 
or  in  the  contemplation  by  means  of  literature,  of  the  mys- 
teries of  minds,  whose  active  career  no  temptation  could 
induce  them  to  take  as  an  example.  So,  in  the  higher 
qualities  and  aspirations  of  the  good  and  wise  those  of  in- 
ferior moral  grade  find  spiritual  sustenance.  Mariotto  Al- 
bertinelli  could  not  have  loved  Fra  Angelico,  as  his  asceti- 
cism and  spirituality  were  wholly  out  of  his  mental  range. 
But  in  Fra  Bartolomeo  he  found  at  bottom  sufficient  affin- 
ity of  feeling  to  plant  himself  upon,  and  while  vicariously 
working  off  for  him  his  sensuous  activity,  and  giving  him 
a passive  enjoyment  therefrom,  he  was  at  the  same  time 
elevated  and  restrained  by  the  superior  morality  of  the 
monk.  In  these  psychological  exchanges  the  benefit  is  mu- 
tual, provided  the  respective  natures  are  well  balanced,  or 
if  the  wiser  and  nobler  can  raise  to  its  own  stand-point  the 


“ MADONNA  DELLA  MISERICORDIA.”  345 

perceptions  of  the  other,  while  benefiting  from  its  worldly 
activity  and  experience. 

Fra  Bartolomeo,  unlike  Lorenzo  di  Credi  and  the  relig- 
ions artists  generally,  prefers  in-door  life.  He  shuts  him- 
self off  from  the  world,  and  manifests  no  particular  del  ight 
in  the  landscape.  This  seclusion  is  joined  to  a spirit  of 
humility  and  obedience.  His  restricted  circle  of  composi- 
tions abounds  in  holy  personages  enthroned,  or  in  glory,  ex- 
alted to  authority  and  beatitude,  made  imposing  by  regal 
attributes,  skilfully  grouped  to  display  their  relative  digni- 
ty, Madonnas  being  surrounded  with  youthful  angels  who 
appear  as  celestial  pages,  hovering  or  seated  about  the 
Queen  of  Heaven,  playing  on  musical  instruments,  and  sup- 
porting her  voluminous  drapery  on  the  dais  of  the  throne 
itself.  Grand  though  simple  architecture,  rich  coloring,  a 
concentration  of  power  on  a few  objects,  a sublimity  of  sen- 
timent, sparse  accessories,  everything  tending  to  the  exalta- 
tion of  spiritual  authority,  are  his  emphatic  points.  His 
style  is  eminently  suited  to  convey  to  the  spectator  lofty 
impressions,  surprising  many  into  new  conceptions  of  the 
capacity  of  painting  to  excite  profound  emotions.  This  is 
pointedly  true  of  his  masterpiece  in  the  church  of  St. 
Romano  at  Lucca,  known  as  the  “ Madonna  della  Miseri- 
cordia.”  Unfortunately  it  has  been  “ refreshed,”  as  the 
custode  mildly  terms  the  repainting  it  has  undergone, 
but  with  the  exception  of  its  newness  of  look  the  character 
of  the  Frate  is  well  preserved.  In  it  we  see  his  highest 
religious  sentiment,  serious,  dignified,  and  graceful,  united 
to  harmonious  design,  careful  study  of  nature  and  individ- 
ual character,  great  force  of  chiaroscuro,  and  fine,  deep  col- 
oring. The  Madonna  stands  upon  an  elevated  pedestal, 
around  the  steps  of  which  is  a crowd  of  devotees,  including 
many  portraits  from  the  family  that  ordered  the  picture, 


346 


FRA  BARTOLOMEO. 


and  their  retainers,  too  literal  to  be  very  noble,  and  over 
whom  the  Virgin  spreads  her  mantle,  upheld  by  angels,  as 
a protecting  shield.  Exalted  above  her  is  Christ,  showing 
his  wounds,  and  bending  over  the  scene  beneath.  The  red 
wing-like  drapery  extending  from  his  spread  arms  has  not 
a happy  effect.  His  angels,  however,  literally  soar  in  the  air. 

Fra  Bartolomeo  was  equal  to  great  topics  and  more  va- 
riety, but  his  ambition  was  weaker  than  his  talents.  What- 
ever he  attempted  was  vigorously  and  thoroughly  done  from 
a sense  of  duty,  and  he  evinces  systematic  progress.  In  his 
earlier  works,  which  approach  miniature  painting  in  fineness 
and  delicacy,  as  for  instance  those  little  gems,  the  44  Birth  ” 
and  44  Circumcision  ” of  Christ,  in  the  Uflfizi,  the  compo- 
sition is  noble  and  beautiful,  and  the  finish  Leonardesque. 
Yet  they  have  the  force  of  large  paintings.  The  tender, 
womanly  expression  of  his  Madonnas,  and  the  graceful,  in- 
fantile, natural  movements  of  his  children,  indicate  the  sym- 
pathies of  a husband  and  father.  His  conception  of  woman, 
more  human  than  divine,  is  still  a generous,  lofty  one.  So 
without  any  evident  taste  for  the  landscape  or  the  poetry 
of  its  details,  it  assumes  with  him,  when  he  does  treat  it, 
a broad,  grand  aspect,  full  of  mysterious  peace  and  harmo- 
ny, as  if  the  spirit  of  its  Creator  rested  upon  it.  But  his 
home  is  within  walls.  By  faith  he  sees  visions.  Behold 
his  Virgin  * amid  her  cloud  of  angel  witnesses  descending 
from  above  to  St.  Bernard,  obscuring  the  earth  by  the 
brightness  of  her  coming.  He  who  could  see  such  sights 
was  not  without  compensation  in  his  exclusion  of  the  outer 
world.  Kugler  accuses  him  of  44  want  of  inward  power 
for  the  conception  of  grand  and  elevated  subjects.”  On 
the  contrary,  this  seems  to  he  his  chief  attribute.  He  is 

*■  Florentine  Academy,  No.  66.  Good  in  composition,  but  for  him  crude  in 
color  and  poor  in  types  of  heads. 


347 


HIS  “ PIETA.” 

exceedingly  impressible  to  elevated,  earnest  sentiment.  His 
vision  centres  upon  few  objects,  but  is  on  that  account  all 
the  stronger.  Look  at  his  “Pieta,”*  a work  bearing  marks 
of  change  and  afterthought  in  the  background,  but  full  of 
solemn  light  and  the  deep  harmonies  of  devotional  senti- 
ment. How  moving  the  unexaggerated  sorrow  of  the 
group  of  the  Madonna,  Magdalen,  and  St.  Dominic  sus- 
taining the  dead  Christ,  with  such  tender,  loving  handling, 
and  earnest  gaze  upon  those  lifeless  features ! Their  grief 
is  that  of  humanity  over  an  irrevocable  loss.  But  the 
artist  has  taken  care  that  we  shall  not  so  limit  his  meaning. 
Sympathize  we  may  and  must  with  those  mourners,  but 
not  without  the  fact  of  eternal  life  to  renew  our  Hope  and 
sustain  our  Faith.  Farther  back  in  the  mid-distance,  be- 
hold the  angel  at  the  empty  sepulchre  ; Christ  appearing  as 
the  gardener  to  Mary  Magdalen ; and  the  historical  inci- 
dents of  that  memorable  journey  to  Emmaus.  We  now 
feel  that  the  Saviour  has  risen,  and  immortality  is  brought 
to  light.  Is  not  a picture  that  can  thus  suggest  the.  high- 
est facts  and  mysteries  of  Christianity,  at  once  pleasing  us 
by  its  art,  instructing  us  by  its  religious  truths,  and  ele- 
vating us  by  its  spirituality,  of  more  account  than  44  Derby 
Days  ” and  44  Horse  Fairs,”  powerful  though  they  be  in 
the  mere  materialism  and  naturalism  of  art]  Yet  crowds 
find  their  affinities  of  taste  and  feeling  in  the  latter,  — the 
legitimate  offspring  of  modernism,  — while  few  indeed  are 
now  touched  by  the  former.  Is  this  difference  of  appre- 
ciation wholly  owing  to  the  artistic  inferiority  of  the  true 
pre-Raphaelites  to  the  Friths,  Rosa  Bonheurs,  or  Leigh- 
tons of  our  day  ] May  not  some  portion  of  our  own  souls 
need  the  quickening  stroke  of  Moses’  rod  to  draw  forth 
li  ving  waters  ] 

* See  Appendix,  No.  89  of  Catalogue. 


348 


HIS  SCHOLARS  AND  SUCCESSORS. 


The  principal  imitator  of  Fra  Bartolomeo  was  Fra  Pao- 
lina  (1490-1547),  of  Pistoja,  a brother  monk,  who  inher- 
ited his  designs,  and  from  whom  they  passed  to  Plautilla 
Nelli  (1523—1588),  a Dominican  nun,  also  an  artist  of 
some  merit.  But  superior  to  either,  and  akin  to  the  Frate 
in  grandeur  and  elegance,  though  with  an  original  manner, 
was  Francesco  Granacci  (1477-L544),  the  scholar  of  Do- 
menico Ghirlandajo.  As  he  had  an  independent  fortune 
he  only  painted  as  an  amateur,  and  his  pictures  are  rare. 
They  are  of  a religious  character,  sweet  and  graceful,  pleas- 
ing in  color,  his  forms  being  full  and  inclining  to  the  gran- 
diose style  of  Michel  Angelo.  Tommaso  di  Stefano  and 
Sogliani  (14-92—1544),  followers  of  Lorenzo  di  Credi, 
were  school  artists  of  some  repute  in  Florence,  unknown 
elsewhere,  and  deserving  of  mention  only  as  closing  the 
present  series,  several  of  whom  are  ranked  here  not  so 
much  from  innate  devotion  as  from  having  been  led  to  re- 
ligious subjects  by  force  of  example  and  the  taste  and  de- 
mands of  others.  One  of  the  most  amiable  and  tender  of 
this  class,  with  at  times  an  elegance  that  savors  of  Raphael, 
is  Raffaellino  del  Garbo  (1476— 1524).  His  colors  are 
hard  and  clear,  and  his  feeling  naive  and  good. 

Before  bidding  farewell  to  the  several  epochs  and  phases 
of  Christian  art  that  have  passed  before  us,  it  is  well  to 
sum  up  in  a few  words  their  most  marked  characteristics. 

What  Byzantine  and  Italian  art  was  when  Giotto  first 
struck  out  a new  and  broad  path  of  improvement  has  been 
sufficiently  shown.  The  impetus  given  to  painting  by  him 
and  the  distinguished  epic  and  lyric  masters  of  his  style 
was  chiefly  in  the  direction  of  new  intellectual  motives  and 
a fresher  and  freer  interpretation  of  old  topics.  They  in- 
spired art  with  a “ living  soul.” 

Then  came  Masaccio  and  his  great  troup  of  naturalists, 


THE  TWO  TRACKS. 


34  9 


to  shape  it  into  human  forms,  and  give  it  variety  and  still 
larger  freedom.  Henceforward  it  pursued  two  distinct 
tracks,  the  one  illustrated  by  Fra  Angelico  and  the  purists 
and  the  other  by  Fra  Filippo  and  those  who  made  technical 
progress  their  great  aim.  The  former,  governed  by  one 
absorbing  idea,  concentrated  their  feeling  and  power  on  a 
special  class  of  motives,  the  highest,  it  is  true,  because 
treating  exclusively  of  the  eternal  welfare  of  the  soul,  but 
therefore  in  range  the  narrower  and  in  meaning  the  more 
mystic  or  vague.  Hence  their  art  was  in  a large  degree 
exceptional,  appealing  only  to  the  spiritually  developed  re- 
ligious mind,  while  in  its  functions  it  was  more  suggestive 
than  illustrative.  It  was  a record  of  faith,  an  ideal  art 
rooted  in  the  partial  revelations  vouchsafed  by  Heaven  to 
earth  of  the  immortal  nature  of  the  soul  and  its  possible 
destinies.  And  as  mankind  at  large  are  ever  slow  to  be 
quickened  by  spiritualities,  it  took  no  permanent,  universal 
root  in  its  heart,  though  it  had  a marvellous  influence  over 
those  who  received  it  with  kindred  sentiment. 

The  track  of  the  scientists  was  firmer  and  broader  ; their 
language  and  aims  more  widely  intelligible,  and  their  suc- 
cess correspondingly  greater.  They  sought  to  conciliate 
all  tastes,  and  to  arrive  at  beauty  and  truth  by  strictly  fol- 
lowing out  the  lessons  and  examples  about  them  in  the 
natural  world,  giving  individuality  perfect  liberty  of  choice. 
Hence  its  pleasing  variety  and  historical  tendency,  treating 
even  religious  subjects  rather  from  the  probable  or  com- 
mon point  of  view,  making  human  character  more  than  the 
heavenly  their  special  inspiration.  The  natural  and  true 
were  their  aims,  equally  unfettered  by  any  aesthetic  theory 
of  the  ideal  beautiful  or  the  spiritual  celestial.  Various 
minds,  as  we  have  seen,  shaped  out  to  themselves  particu- 
lar fields  of  technical  progress.  One  made  anatomy  his 


350 


THE  TWO  TRACKS. 


chief  study  ; another,  perspective  ; a third,  color  ; a fourth 
exhumed  classical  art  to  get  at  its  secret  of  perfection  ; 
some  delighted  in  the  landscape ; others,  in  the  animal 
world ; the  serious  and  grand,  graceful  and  refined,  whim- 
sical and  extravagant,  sensuous  and  joyful,  interpenetrated 
various  creative  and  inventive  minds,  each  of  which  became 
the  leader  of  some  special  progress,  giving  birth  to  strong- 
ly defined  styles  and  widely  contrasted  motives. 

The  mental  bias  and  its  particular  fruit,  at  once  the 
cause  and  effect  of  the  extraordinary  progress  in  painting, 
illustrated  by  those  artists  who  led  it  up,  step  by  step  as  it 
were,  to  that  degree  of  perfection  which  found  its  fullest 
development  in  the  three  masters  of  the  great  masters 
themselves,  to  each  of  whom  a separate  chapter  must  be 
devoted,  has  been  as  clearly  described  as  was  possible  in  a 
volume  embracing-  so  wide  a range  of  time  and  character. 

o o 

And  with  one  further  remark,  to  point  out  a generic  differ- 
ence existing  between  the  class  of  religious  masters  last  re- 
viewed and  their  more  naturalistic  contemporaries,  we  must 
pass  on  to  the  successors  of  both.  We  refer  to  the  striking 
contrast  between  the  arrangement  of  the  compositions  of 
each.  The  purists,  represented  by  Francia,  Santi,  Peru- 
gino,  Credi,  the  Frate,  and  their  associates,  are  simple,  se- 
rious, and  quiet,  with  a sort  of  instinct  for  regular  lines 
and  masses  and  symmetrically  disposed  figures ; a dislike 
of  a crowd ; a deep  feeling  both  for  light  and  repose  ; a re- 
pugnance to  shadow ; and  a lively  sympathy  with  the  pure 
and  innocent  in  nature  ; in  short,  a strongly  defined  liking 
for  the  peaceful,  regular,  and  harmonious  in  all  things. 
Lippi,  Filippino,  Botticelli,  Ghirlandajo,  Signorelli,  and 
their  companions,  on  the  contrary,  are  at  home  in  an  ani- 
mated crowd,  irregularly  or  lively  disposed  masses  and 
groups,  dramatic  action,  a multiplicity  of  details,  striking 


THE  TWO  TRACKS. 


351 


effects,  and  general  vigor  of  color  and  accessories.  They 
are  men  of  the  world ; the  others  of  the  cloister.  Ru- 
mohr  attributes  the  love  of  repose  and  harmony  of  the 
purists  to  their  taste  for  classical  art.  Not  so  ! They  had 
no  predilection  for  it.  But  they  had  for  retired  lives  and 
religious  sentiment,  which  passed  from  themselves  into 
their  paintings,  just  as  the  more  energetic  habits  and  world- 
ly experience  of  the  strict  naturalists  gave  a corresponding 
tone  to  their  works. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


The  matured  Fruit  of  Naturalism.  Trained  Painters.  Ridolfo  Ghirlandajo, 
1435-1560.  Michele  di  Ridolfo.  Domenico  Becafumi,  1484-1549.  Gio- 
vanantonio  Bazzi  or  Sodoma,  1474-1544,  the  Buffoon  and  Rival  of  Raphael. 
His  Antics  and  Genius.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  1488-1530,  the  Wife-ridden. 
His  Talents  and  Weakness.  The  Colorists  of  this  Class  of  Painters. 
Franciabigio,  1483-1524,  the  Irritable  Bachelor.  II  Rosso.  Domenico  Puligo, 
1475-1527,  the  Dissipated.  Pontormo,  1493-1558,  the  Odd  and  Amiable. 
Society  of  the  Trowel. 


We  now  reach  the  matured  fruit  of  naturalism  in  a class 
of  painters  whose  sympathies  and  habits  are  quite  apart 
from  the  religionists,  and  who  made  technical  skill  their 
highest  aim.  They  are  educated  artists,  with  no  special 
bias  of  sentiment  or  thought,  nor  exclusive  partiality  for 
any  class  of  subjects,  but  who  turned  their  pencils  to  what- 
ever topics  patronage  required.  Nevertheless,  there  were 
great  masters  among  them.  It  mattered  little  whether 
mythology,  Christianity,  decoration,  history,  the  grotesque, 
allegorical,  serious,  or  sensuous  furnished  their  well-disci- 
plined minds  and  hands  with  topics,  so  that  as  artists  they 
were  successful.  Not  that  their  own  idiosyncrasies  did  not 
more  or  less  color  their  art,  but  they  had  learned  to  view 
it  as  a pliable  mechanism,  to  be  inspired  by  the  taste,  fash- 
ion, or  caprice  of  the  moment,  to  the  intent  rather  to  aston- 
ish or  please  from  curious  invention,  clever  imitation,  the 
subtleties  of  design  or  color,  or  force  and  vagaries  of  man- 
ner, than  to  enunciate  elevated  truths  or  depict  spiritual 
beauty.  We  miss  in  them  alike  the  concentrated,  lofty  re- 
ligious idealism  of  the  one  class  already  reviewed,  and  the 


RIDOLFO  GHIRLANDAJO. 


858 


earnest,  high-minded  intellectual  ambition  of  the  other,  in- 
tent upon  the  development  of  high  art,  and  laboriously  and 
loyally  working  out  its  perfection.  Those  now  to  come  on 
the  stage  are,  however,  by  no  means  the  representatives  of 
its  decadence.  They  simply  coquetted  with  High  Art,  and 
are  the  beginning  of  its  downward  phase ; bringing  true 
progress  to  an  end  and  inaugurating  a transition  period,  in 
which  the  original  impetus  of  noble  feeling  and  sincere 
labor  being  gradually  exhausted,  its  light  for  a while 
wavered,  dickered,  and  finally  burned  down  to  its  socket 
amid  smoke  and  consuming  darkness. 

But  before  the  utter  and  disastrous  extinction  of  its 
br  ight  hopes  and  powerful  energies,  minds  replete  with 
much  promise  and  hands  prolific  with  clever  work  troop 
around  the  uncertain  standard  of  art,  postponing  for  a while 
our  sorrow,  though  vaguely  and  sometimes  plainly  hinting 
at  its  destined  advent.  The  first  to  be  noticed  is  Ridolfo 
Ghirlandajo  (1485—1560),  son  of  Domenico,  educated  in  the 
school  of  his  uncle  David  and  of  Fra  Bartolomeo,  thus  hav- 
ing the  double  advantage  of  a practical  training  under  the 
better  influences  of  religious  and  naturalistic  art.  His  force 
and  invention  were  but  moderate,  but  he  formed  a pleas- 
ing, graceful,  composite  style,  in  its  best  condition  resem- 
bling the  second  manner  of  Raphael,  with  whom  he  had 
become  intimate,  and 'who  thought  sufficiently  wrell  of  him 
to  leave  one  of  his  Holy  Families  in  his  hands  to  he  fin- 
ished when  he  was  called  away  to  Rome.  He  also  urged 
him  to  go  with  him,  but  Ridolfo  declined,  alleging  that  he 
could  not  exist  out  of  sight  of  Brunelleschi  s majestic  dome. 
Posterity  seems  disposed  to  justify  the  partiality  of  Raphael, 
for  it  continues  to  confound  one  of  Ridolfo’s  Holy  Fami- 
lies, that  of  the  Pozzo,  or  Well,  in  the  Tribune  of  the 
Uffizi,  having,  too,  the  “ Cardellino  ” for  its  neighbor,  with 

23 


354. 


BECAFUMI. 


the  reputation  of  Raphael ; though  no  one  who  has  care- 
fully studied  the  two,  while  admitting  the  cleverness  of 
Ridolfo,  will  be  liable  to  mistake  one  hand  for  the  other. 
In  portraits  also  he  approaches  the  Florentine  style  of 
Raphael.  In  an  adjoining  room  we  see  Ridolfo  to  still 
better  advantage  in  his  two  masterpieces,  the  “ Miracles 
of  St.  Zenobius.”  They  are  admirably  composed,  have 
much  freedom,  vigor  of  design  and  color,  fine  character  in 
the  heads,  and  dignified  action.  But  the  promise  of  these 
and  other  works  was  not  fulfilled  in  his  later.  The  de- 
sire of  gain  quenched  his  nobler  fire,  and  he  grew  to  be 
hasty,  mechanical,  and  meagre,  so  that  his  reputation,  which 
began  so  brightly,  darkened,  and  ultimately  left  no  conspic- 
uous mark  in  the  annals  of  painting.  Of  his  numerous 
companions  Michele  di  Ridolfo  comes  nearest  to  his  man- 
ner. They  painted  much  in  common.  Ridolfo  kept  many 
promising  young  artists  in  his  studio,  executing  by  their 
assistance  numerous  works  on  panel  and  canvas,  which  he 
exported  to  Germany,  France,  and  England,  greatly  to  his 
profit.  But  as  he  grew  richer  the  tares  of  wealth  choked 
his  genius,  and  his  ambition  as  an  artist  proportionately 
diminished. 

Domenico  Becafumi  (1484— 1549),  of  Siena,  had  more 
versatility  and  power.  He  formed  his  style  in  Rome,  after 
a diligent  study  of  antique  sculpture  and  the  works  of 
Raphael  and  Michel  Angelo,  acquiring  so  much  correctness 
of  design  and  grandeur  of  manner  as  to  be  honored  with 
the  appellation  of  the  Michel  Angelo  of  the  Sienese  school. 
His  best  works,  being  limited  to  Siena,  and  not  in  a favora- 
ble light,  particularly  the  fine  frescoes  of  the  Oratory  of 
San  Bernardino,  painted  in  rivalry  with  Bazzi,  contribute 
to  keep  his  fame  more  in  shadow  than  it  merits.  He  is 
superior  in  tempera  or  fresco  to  oils,  and  his  historical  com- 


BECAFUMI. 


855 


positions  are  exceedingly  felicitous  and  picturesque,  by  a 
happy  unity  telling  their  story  at  a glance.  The  Acade- 
my boasts  of  one  of  his  best  easel  pictures  ; “ St.  Catherine 
receiving  the  Stigmata.”  It  is  somewhat  cold  in  color,  but 
well  composed,  and  displays  admirable  strength  of  design, 
force  of  relief,  and  aerial  perspective.  He  is  inclined 
to  anatomical  tours  de  force , difficult  foreshortenings,  and 
those  ambitious  technical  flights  which  in  weaker  hands 
soon  became  very  common,  to  the  great  detriment  of  pure 
taste,  ending  in  making  of  painting  a pictorial  gymnasium. 
Angels  and  saints,  in  this  conceited  exaggeration  of  design, 
were  converted  into  furiously  kicking,  climbing,  and  sprawl- 
ing or  awkwardly  stretching  beings,  in  violent  commotion 
of  some  kind  or  other,  or  attitudinizing  so  as  to  show  off 
their  persons,  with  which  they  seem  themselves  to  be  vastly 
enamored.  This  folly  did  not  possess  Becafumi.  He  did 
difficult  things  well,  and,  of  their  kind,  in  good  taste ; with 
richness  of  invention,  elegance  of  composition,  and  par- 
ticular adaptation  to  the  architecture  which  he  was  re- 
quired to  decorate.  Like  all  who  prefer  the  grand  and 
striking  to  the  simple  and  refined,  he  is  at  times  unequal 
and  careless.  But  his  aim  is  strength  and  dignity ; his 
figures,  when  he  so  designs,  however  small,  appearing  co- 
lossal and  full  of  vigor.  He  was  wont  to  say  he  could  not 
paint  well  out  of  the  atmosphere  of  Siena.  His  habits 
were  solitary,  and  he  also  resembled  his  favorite  master  in 
being  a God-fearing,  upright  man,  dying  greatly  lamented 
by  the  Sienese,  whose  poets  long  kept  his  memory  green 
in  Latin  and  Italian  song. 

The  pride  of  Siena,  however,  is  Giovanantonio  Razzi,  or 
Bazzi  * (LI74<— 154h4j).  The  last  seems  to  have  been  his 
true  name,  but  destiny  capriciously  stole  it  away,  and  gave 
* Vasari,  vol.  ii.  p.  162,  Lemonier’s  edition. 


356 


BAZZr,  OR  SODOMA. 


him  instead  the  dirty  nickname  of  Sodoma,  which  has  stuck 
to  him  for  upwards  of  three  centuries,  being  not  of  oppro- 
brious derivation  originally,  as  many  suppose,  but  a vulgar 
corruption  of  Sodona  or  Sogdona,  a family  name  of  the 
Bazzi,  and  used  by  the  artist  himself  in  some  of  his  writ- 
ten contracts  still  on  file.  His  birthplace  is  uncertain,  but 
presumed  to  be  Vercelli,  in  Piedmont.  Siena  has  more 
claims  upon  his  memory  than  any  other  locality,  for  she  is 
the  richest  in  his  works.  History  has  been  as  careless  of 
his  reputation  as  he  was  himself ; for  we  have  but  lately 
discovered  his  rightful  patronymic,  while  she  has  thrown 
more  dirt  at  him  than  he  deserves.  But  little  cared  he  for 
foul  names  or  the  freaks  of  fortune  so  that  his  life  went 
merrily  on.  With  none  of  the  misanthropy  and  gloomy 
fancies  of  Piero  di  Cosimo,  he  was  equally  as  eccentric 
and  fantastic.  Improvident,  light-hearted,  with  a touch  of 
the  buffoon,  dressing  pompously  or  absurdly,  he  attracted 
about  him  the  vagrants  of  fun  and  gayety,  while  not  at  all 
nice  as  to  their  quality.  His  mode  of  life,  hand  to  mouth 
and  free  and  easy,  found  small  favor  with  the  sober-minded 
citizens  of  Siena.  He  turned  his  house  into  a menagerie 
of  strange  animals.  Monkeys,  badgers,  squirrels,  wild- 
cats, dwarf  asses,  tiny  ponies,  tortoises,  magpies,  queer 
birds,  and  every  sort  of  brute  oddity  he  could  get  hold  of, 
swarmed  around  him.  The  chief  pet  was  a raven,  which 
so  cleverly  imitated  his  voice  as  to  deceive  visitors,  to  his 
never-ending  amusement.  This  extraordinary  family  were 
very  fond  of  him,  and  when  he  was  within  doors  they  were 
accustomed  to  press  about  him,  astonishing  his  company  at 
his  bidding  with  the  most  ludicrous  and  extravagant  antics, 
saluting  their  ears  with  discordant  cries,  a hideous  Babel 
of  sounds,  causing  them  to  believe  that  by  chance  they  had 
found  their  way  into  Noah’s  ark  at  feeding-time.  His 


BAZZI,  OR  SODOMA. 


S5J 


magnetic  charm  over  animals,  making  them  docile  to  his 
wayward  fancies,  extended  to  his  own  species.  The  young 
were  highly  entertained  by  his  drolleries.  Children  loved 
him,  and  were  amused  by  his  society.  Vicious  he  was 
not,  but  he  lacked  self-respect,  forethought,  and  had  an 
unconquerable  aversion  to  orderly  habits.  With  such  a 
household,  coupled  with  eccentricities  of  behavior  wholly  at 
variance  with  domestic  comfort  and  the  decencies  of  life, 
small  wonder  it  is  that  his  young  wife,  after  the  birth  of  a 
daughter,  left  him,  and  took  upon  herself  the  support  of 
their  only  child.  He  bore  this  as  unconcernedly  as  he  did 
every  other  mishap  while  his  animal  spirits  were  sound. 
Waggish  and  mischievous  names,  which  he  wantonly  pro- 
voked, only  made  him  laugh  and  wittily  retort  in  kind. 
Indeed  he  composed  verses  upon  the  worst,  and  merrily 
sung  them  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  lute.  His  pranks 
at  Monte  Uliveto,  between  Siena  and  Arezzo,  while  paint- 
ing its  celebrated  series  of  frescoes  begun  by  Luca  Signo- 
relli, formed  a risible  epoch  in  the  lives  of  those  staid  and 
refined  Benedictines.  Among  his  animals  was  a Barbary 
horse  that  had  won  many  prizes  at  races,  which  he  used  to 
display  at  his  windows,  being  vainer  of  them  than  of  his 
fame  as  an  artist.  While  employed  near  Florence,  it 
chanced  that  his  steed  won  at  the  San  Bernardo  race.  It 
being  the  custom  to  call  out  the  name  of  the  winner,  the 
boys  who  followed  the  trumpeters  inquired  his.  “ It  Mat- 
taccio,”  the  arch-fool,  was  the  answer  they  got.  Relishing 
the  joke,  they  shouted  it  most  lustily,  to  the  great  scandal 
of  the  grave  Florentine  dignitaries,  who  indignantly  ex- 
claimed, u What  impertinence  is  this  that  there  should  be 
called  through  our  streets  so  vile  a name  ! ” and  Bazzi,  with 
his  ape  behind  him  on  his  horse,  had  a narrow  escape  from 
being  stoned  by  the  populace. 


358 


BAZZI,  OR  SODOMA. 


His  vanity  was  of  the  weakest  sort,  for  having  been  well 
rewarded  by  Leo  X.  for  bis  beautiful  picture  of  “ Lucretia 
stabbing  herself,”  and  made  a chevalier,  he  became  so 
elated  that  thenceforward  he  lost  what  little  steadiness  of 
character  he  had,  working  seldom  otherwise  than  as  want 
or  caprice  dictated. 

Vasari,  however,  has  painted  Bazzi  blacker  than  he  de- 
serves. That  his  follies  were  unfavorable  to  artistic  devel- 
opment none  can  dispute.  He  was  his  own  worst  enemy ; 
an  odd  not  vicious  compound,  extravagant  in  everything, 
and  accepting  life  as  a great  joke.  But  his  genius,  despite 
low  and  uncongenial  tastes,  forced  him  to  become  a great 
artist.  He  was  powerful,  fertile,  original,  graceful,  and 
varied ; warm  and  tender  in  color,  though  not  always ; 
often  careless,  unequal,  and  impatient,  but  in  everything 
wonderfully  individualistic,  and  leaving  the  impression  that, 
had  he  willed  it,  sustained  by  true  ambition,  he  might  have 
rivalled  Raphael.  As  it  is,  in  several  points  he  is  his 
equal.  His  heads  are  studies  from  the  superior  classes  of 
the  Sienese,  and  are  remarkable  for  their  spirited  beauty. 
The  type  of  his  Madonnas  is  most  womanly ; a being  more 
full  of  feeling,  more  natural  and  lovable  than  those  of  Ra- 
phael ; not  so  ideal  and  heavenly,  but  richer  in  those  quali- 
ties of  mind  and  person  that  make  men  happiest  and  best 
and  make  them  honor  women  the  most.  No  infidelity  is 
possible  towards  his  pure,  loving,  intellectual  ideal  of  the 
female  sex,  whose  tender  constancy,  written  by  her  soul  in 
every  feature,  surrounds  the  spectator  with  an  atmosphere 
of  chastity  and  truth.  A full-rounded,  delicately-moulded, 
well-proportioned,  and  gracefully-outlined  person  exhibits 
to  us  the  completest  physical  beauty,  invincible  to  sensual 
inclination  from  its  perfect  alliance  with  virtue.  Hence 
Bazzi’s  standard  of  female  excellence  must  have  been  based 


BAZZI,  OR  SODOMA. 


359 


upon  a rare  conception  of  the  highest  attributes  of  the  sex, 
the  more  singular  in  one  whose  externals  were  of  so  unre- 
fined  a character. 

The  loveliest  female  form,  to  our  knowledge,  that  ever 
had  birth  from  artist’s  pencil  is  his  Eve,  in  the  fresco 
of  the  44  Descent  of  Christ  into  Limbo,”  in  the  Sienese 
Academy.  She  is  a miracle  of  grace,  modesty,  and  timid- 
ity. Her  countenance  is  radiant  with  the  new  hope  of 
perfected  salvation  as  the  Saviour  appears,  yet  not  wholly 
purified  from  the  sadness  of  past  sin.  The  consciousness 
of  this  still  lingers  in  her  expression,  like  the  faintest 
shadow  over  the  earth  of  a passing  sunset-mist  all  aglow 
with  the  rays  of  the  parting  day.  But  her  beautiful  form 
is  quickened  with  her  new  spiritual  life,  imparting  to  her  a 
loveliness  which  only  celestial  joy  can  bestow,  yet  in  atti- 
tude and  feeling  still  eloquent  with  the  44  good  ” work  of 
the  primal  creation,  thus  combining  the  highest  charms  of 
earth  with  the  divine  graces  of  heaven. 

Bazzi  borrows  with  equal  felicity  from  imagination  and 
nature.  His  Christs  are  powerfully  conceived,  not  as  a 
spiritualized,  rapt  being,  but  with  the  highest  stamp  of 
earthly  beauty,  nobility,  and  pathos,  exalted  by  suffering 
and  divine  compassion  or  majestic  endurance.  He  had  as 
noble  a conception  of  the  man  Christ  as  of  the  woman  Ma- 
donna. His  contrasts  of  expression  are  singularly  forcible. 
Witness  the  malignant  countenance  of  the  Wandering  Jew 
about  to  buffet  and  taunt  the  Saviour,  in  his  44  Ecce  Homo,” 
a picture  that  would  honor  any  artist,  though  very  inade- 
quately rendered  here  in  outline.' * The  fanatical  vehe- 
mence of  Abraham,  a grand  figure,  about  to  offer  up  Isaac, 
a picture  in  the  Duomo  at  Pisa,  contrasted  with  the  shrink- 
ing willingness  of  the  victim,  is  one  of  his  happy  efforts. 

* PL  L,  fig.  35. 


360 


BAZZI,  OR  SODOMA. 


The  angel  flies  towards  the  patriarch,  and  by  his  touch  ar- 
rests the  sweep  of  the  sword  just  as  it  is  about  to  strike, 
Isaac  submissively  gazing  upon  his  father,  who  looks  up 
astonished  at  the  miraculous  interference.  In  the  Uffizi 
there  is  but  one  undoubted  picture  of  bis,  a “ St.  Sebastian,” 
painted  for  a religious  banner,  much  injured  by  exposure 
to  the  weather,  but  most  admirable  for  its  correct,  classical 
proportions  and  power  of  expression,  in  which  the  welcome 
of  heaven  has  already  triumphed  over  the  pangs  of  martyr- 
dom. Pure  sentiment,  vital  force,  and  scientific  execution, 
saving  the  color  now  gone,  are  rarely  seen  more  happily 
united  than  in  this  figure.  Another  of  his  masterly  per- 
formances is  St.  Catherine  in  ecstasy,  and  in  another  scene, 
swooning ; wonderful  groups  in  his  frescoes  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Domenico,  Siena ; pathetic,  impressive,  richly  con- 
ceived and  adorned. 

Bazzi  painted  in  the  Vatican,  hut  with  the  exception  of 
some  fine  grotesques  and  arabesques  nothing  of  his  is  now 
to  be  seen  there.  He,  with  Signorelli  and  Perugino  and 
the  greatest  artists  of  their  generation,  who  had  been  sum- 
moned to  Rome  to  decorate  the  state  apartments  of  that 
palace,  lived  to  see  their  varied  and  beautiful  works  in 
great  measure  swept  away  by  order  of  Julius  II.,  to  give 
ample  space  for  the  pencil  of  a youthful  rival,  who,  in  their 
lives  even,  overshadowed  their  fames  by  his  more  fertile 
genius,  as  he  has  distanced  all  subsequent  artistic  rivalry. 
On  the  walls  of  the  Farnesina  villa  he  appears  in  direct 
competition  with  Raphael, — their  common  patron  being 
the  munificent  and  aesthetic  banker,  Chigi, — in  his  at- 
tractive compositions  from  the  Life  of  Alexander  the  Great. 
On  every  side  we  have  evidence  of  the  eminence  he  might 
have  won,  had  not  he  been  so  entirely  controlled  by  his  er- 
ratic, impatient  humor,  which  not  only  brought  upon  him 


BAZZI,  OR  SODOMA. 


861 


adversity  and  reproach,  but  corrupted  his  style.  His  St. 
Catherines  are  too  often  gifted  with  a sly,  mischievous  ex- 
pression, anything  but  in  harmony  with  the  sincerity  of 
holiness.  In  his  celebrated  “ Epiphany  ” in  St.  Agostino  at 
Siena  he  makes  Joseph  jealously  scowling  at  the  hand- 
somest of  the  Magi,  who  is  regarding  Mary  with  too  warm 
admiration.  The  monks  of  Monte  Uliveto  have  a tradi- 
tion that  the  quality  of  his  painting  used  to  depend  upon 
the  goodness  of  his  meals.  To  paint  well,  he  told  them, 
he  must  fare  well,  and  his  pencil  moved  best  to  the  jingle 
of  coins.  It  must  be  confessed  stingy  monks  often  needed 
such  hints,  as  Domenico  Ghirlandajo  and  his  brothers 
learned  to  their  indignation,  when  those  of  Vallombro- 
sa  wished  to  put  them  upon  the  diet  of  day-laborers, 
with  whom  they  were  disposed  to  class  them.  Bazzi  did, 
however,  justly  incur  the  charge  of  indecorum,  growing 
out  of  a grudge  against  the  monks  for  their  reprovals  of 
his  scandalous  weaknesses.  Causing  a screen  to  be  put  up 
to  hide  his  work,  a series  in  fresco  illustrating  the  Life  of 
St.  Benedetto,  he  composed  the  story  of  the  priest  Fiorenzo, 
the  enemy  of  the  saint,  — who  tempted  and  disturbed  him  by 
bringing  loose  women  to  revel  and  sing  in  his  sight,  — in  a 
literal  manner,  which  shocked  and  offended  the  brotherhood 
beyond  measure.  The  wantons,  graceful  and  beautiful  as 
he  well  knew  how  to  paint  them,  were  seen  dancing  naked 
before  the  saint,  and  practising  upon  him  their  lewdest 
blandishments.  The  General  of  the  Order,  perceiving  the 
scandal  thus  put  upon  the  convent,  commanded  the  instant 
destruction  of  the  picture,  but  was  finally  appeased  by  the 
figures  being  chastely  draped.  This  painting  is  one  of  his 
best,  having  been  done  with  real  pleasure.  Even  beside 
Luca  Signorelli  he  displays  great  and  varied  merit  and 
fertile  invention.  In  one  of  the  series  Bazzi  painted  the 


362 


BAZZI,  OR  SODOMA. 


portraits  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  himself,  clad  in  a 
costly,  fashionable  cloak,  given  to  him  by  a gentleman  of 
Milan,  who  had  recently  joined  the  order.  At  his  feet  he 
puts  several  of  his  darling  animals,  including  the  chatter- 
ing raven  and  a baboon. 

The  frescoes  in  St.  Domenico,  at  Siena,  evince  many  of 
his  best  qualities,  are  rich  in  color  and  ornamentation,  vig- 
orous, and  seductive,  but  at  the  same  time  betray  a haste  and 
lightness  that  are  offensive.  His  boy-angels  are  merry, 
substantial  rogues.  The  most  disagreeable  and  unneces- 
sary feature  is  a lapdog,  just  escaped  from  his  mistress, 
barking  with  ludicrous  affright  and  fury  at  the  freshly  de- 
capitated head  of  the  saint  rolling  on  the  ground  towards 
him,  painfully  natural  in  its  spasms.  Such  a scene  jars 
upon  the  higher  motives  of  the  composition,  which  other- 
wise are  effectively  given.  His  naturalism  is  not  always 
of  this  order.  In  his  “ Deposition,”  a masterpiece  pre- 
served in  the  Church  of  St.  Francesco,  and  one  of  the  finest 
paintings  in  Europe,  the  helmet  on  the  ground  at  the  foot 
of  the  cross  reflects  most  delicately  and  truthfully  the  ob- 
jects near  it ; a picture  within  a picture,  and  a careful 
study  of  particular  effects  not  common  in  his  day.  His 
merit  was  not,  as  Vasari  implies,  mere  chance,  nor  was  he 
altogether  the  vagabond  and  buffoon  he  describes  him  to 
have  been.  Whenever  he  chose,  he  excelled,  and  after  a 
manner  attesting  not  only  original  genius  but  close  study 
and  keen  observation.  Self-control  and  concentration  alone 
were  wanting  to  have  fixed  him  permanently  in  the  first 
rank  of  the  most  brilliant  age  of  painting.  As  it  is,  he  is 
an  independent,  vigorous  artist,  full  of  resources,  resembling 
none  other ; if  influenced  by  any  one,  perhaps  by  Leo- 
nardo, thus  showing  his  affinity  for  the  loftiest  intellectual 
example.  In  his  old  age  he  left  Siena  to  seek  employment 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 


S6S 


at  Volterra,  Pisa,  and  elsewhere,  returning,  however,  to 
die  in  the  city  of  bis  fame  in  a hospital,  forsaken  by  those 
whom  he  had  so  often  amused,  and  drinking  to  its  dregs 
the  hitter  cup  of  distress  which  his  continued  improvidence 
had  filled  for  him.  His  good  works  survive.  His  follies 
let  us  charitably  forget.  Take  him  in  all,  he  was  a rare 
man  and  one  of  Italy’s  greatest  painters. 

Few  would  recognize  in  Andrea  da  Angiolo  di  Frances- 
co one  of  the  world’s  pet  names  in  art.  Vannucchi,  the 
family  name,  throws  light  upon  it,  hut  to  make  it  clear  to 
all  we  must  continue  to  call  him  by  the  more  familiar  than 
respectful  nickname  given  him  by  the  Florentines,  after 
their  manner,  because  of  his  father’s  trade,  — Andrea  del 
Sarto,  — the  tailor’s  Andrew,  as  it  reads,  (1488— 1530.) 
He  is  fortunate,  however,  that  unlike  Sodoma  it  involves 
no  degradation  of  character,  though  he  deserved  to  be  stig- 
matized, not  however  without  a due  share  of  charitable 
pity.  For  it  was  the  wiles  and  blandishments  of  a heart- 
less woman  that  made  him  an  ingrate  and  defaulter.  Per- 
haps the  shame  of  the  blows,  and  the  sting  of  her  arrogance, 
both  of  which  Vasari  experienced  while  a pupil  of  Andrea, 
which  were  duly  shared  by  his  young  companions,  and  which 
finally  drove  all  of  them  out  of  the  studio,  may  have  given 
almost  unconsciously  some  extra  coloring  matter  to  his  pen 
while  writing  of  this  shrew.  But  the  mishaps  which  befell 
the  painter  after  his  ill-advised  marriage,  derived  as  they  were 
from  his  wife’s  influence,  prove  that  destiny,  taking  advan- 
tage of  his  amorous  weakness,  set  her  up  as  his  evil  genius. 
Poor  Andrew ! Yet,  after  all,  we  shall  see  that  he  was  a 
willing  sacrifice,  and,  like  most  men  in  the  same  category, 
in  hugging  his  torment  had  no  more  satisfactory  consola- 
tion to  take  to  himself  than  the  humiliating  confession,  old 
as  Adam,  “ the  woman  gave  him  dirt  to  eat  and  he  ate  it.” 


86  k 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 


Andrea,  in  his  infatuation,  did  his  best  to  idealize  her  into 
a Madonna,  his  constant  type,  but  though  handsome  and 
dainty,  as  the  animal  goes,  no  one  can  view  those  hard, 
selfish  features,  so  full  of  passion  and  will,  without  credit- 
ing the  narrative  of  an  eye-witness  and  a sufferer.  Her 
character  and  siren  attractions,  in  pitiable  contrast  with 
his  own  immoral  irresolution,  are  graphically  perpetuated 
by  him,  and  with  a strong  appeal  to  one’s  sympathies, 
considering  that  the  tempter  is  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  in 
their  joint  portraits  in  the  Pitti,  in  which  picture  she  pits 
her  charms  and  influence  against  his  duty  and  honor,  as 
with  one  hand  caressing  her,  the  other  holding  that  letter 
from  the  King  of  France  whose  good  was  by  his  folly 
turned  to  evil,  he  ponders  upon  this  motive  and  upon  that . 
Easy  enough  to  see'  whose  is  the  victorious  will. 

Andrea  began  life  well.  His  genius  speedily  opened  up 
to  him  a brilliant  career.  While  with  Piero  di  Cosimo,  he 
took  advantage  of  every  hour  he  could  claim  as  his  own  to 
study  the  celebrated  rival  cartoons  of  Leonardo  and  Michel 
Angelo,  then  in  all  their  perfection  and  furore  of  success. 
The  dirty  vagaries  of  Cosimo  disgusting  him,  jointly  with 
his  friend  Franciabigio  he  set  up  an  independent  studio, 
so  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  public  that  he  had  no 
lack  of  commissions.  It  is  reported  of  Andrea  that  he 
made  a journey  to  Rome,  and  like  Fra  Bartolomeo  was  so 
powerfully  impressed  by  antique  and  modern  art  that  in 
utter  despair  he  returned  at  once  to  Florence.  This  lack 
of  intellectual  pluck  is  what  might  be  expected  from  him. 
Moral  stamina  and  elevation  of  mind  were  his  great  defi- 
ciencies, the  want  of  which  as  pilots  shipwrecked  his  career. 
In  the  midst  of  artistic  prosperity  at  home,  fast  acquiring 
honors  and  riches,  creditably  sustaining  his  own  relations, 
who  were  dependent  upon  his  rising  fortunes,  he  fell  madly 


LUCREZIA  FEDE, 


365 


in  love  with  a married  woman,  Lucrezia  Fede,  — seduced 
by  her,  so  says  his  biographer.  As  she  soon  after  became 
a widow,  he  made  her  legitimately  his  own,  or  rather  he  be- 
came hers.  Cupid  forefend  that  another  artist  do  likewise  ! 
For  her  he  abandoned  his  own  parents  to  cruel  poverty, 
neglected  his  friends  and  his  art,  and  lost  his  good  name. 
Sufficient  recompense  was  it  to  be  her  witless  slave.  Her 
contribution  to  his  domestic  happiness  was  an  imperious, 
prodigal,  jealous,  and  wilful  disposition.  Would  that  this 
was  all.  Without  honesty  and  good  faith  herself,  she 
caused  him  to  consider  such  traits  of  character  as  quite  su- 
perfluous in  himself.  Her  relations  consumed  all  of  his 
earnings  that  she  did  not,  and  both  kept  him  in  perpetual 
toiling  want,  because  his  mild,  feeble  temper  was  incapable 
of  resisting  their  impositions. 

The  dealers  took  advantage  of  this  weakness  to  get  his 
pictures  at  prices  which  repaid  them  fourfold,  and  greedy 
patrons  were  always  on  the  watch  for  his  necessities  to  make 
their  own  terms,  while  cunning,  stingy  ones,  such  as  the 
Sacristan  of  the  Servites,  stimulated  his  ambition  and  ex- 
cited his  jealousy  to  get  him  to  undertake  for  a pittance 
important  works,  like  those  beautiful  frescoes  in  the  court 
of  the  Annunciata.  A friend  urged  him  to  escape  from 
his  unfavorable  circumstances,  leave  his  wife  temporarily, 
and  after  he  had  recovered  his  fortune  and  reputation  to 
return,  if  he  saw  fit.  While  debating  this  remedy  for  his 
domestic  tyranny,  Francis  I.,  who  had  conceived  a great 
admiration  of  his  paintings,  not  only  invited  him  to  France 
but  sent  him  money  for  the  journey.  His  mood  being  pro- 
pitious, and  his  real  friends  sustaining  him,  he  set  off  at 
once.  On  the  day  of  his  arrival  he  received  handsome 
presents,  followed  by  numerous  orders,  for  which  he  was 
liberally  paid.  An  annuity  was  settled  upon  him,  and 


366 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 


fortune  did  her  best  to  content  him  with  the  present  and 
do  away  the  evils  of  the  past.  Andrea  was  now  abundantly 
satisfied  with  his  position  and  prospects.  But  in  an  evil 
hour  letters  came  from  his  wife,  complaining  vehemently 
at  his  absence,  protesting  that  she  had  never  ceased  to  weep 
bitterly  in  consequence,  rekindling  his  dormant  passion  with 
honeyed  words,  and  concluding  with  the  assurance  that  if  he 
did  not  speedily  come  back  she  should  die.  Fired  by  this 
artful  eloquence,  and  stimulated  by  the  desire  of  displaying 
himself  in  his  rich  apparel  and  improved  estate  to  his  family 
and  friends  at  home,  he  begged  permission  of  the  king  to 
return  to  Florence  to  arrange  his  afiairs,  promising,  as  soon 
as  this  was  done,  to  bring  with  him  his  wife  and  make 
France  his  permanent  residence.  Still  further  to  win  the 
assent  of  his  royal  master,  he  suggested  that  he  could  im- 
prove the  present  visit  to  procure  for  Francis  the  best  works 
of  art  of  his  country.  The  king  reluctantly  yielded,  first 
exacting  an  oath  on  the  Gospels  that  he  would  keep  his 
promise  within  a given  time.  He  then  intrusted  him  with 
a liberal  sum  to  purchase  paintings  and  statuary,  beside  a 
handsome  amount  for  his  own  necessities. 

This  was  in  1.519.  Arrived  home,  his  family,  or  rather 
his  wife’s,  were  overjoyed  to  have  among  them  again  the 
now  full-handed  Andrea,  as  easily  squeezed  as  a sponge. 
At  their  instigation,  neglecting  his  own  parents,  he  made 
large  gifts  to  the  brother  and  sisters  of  Lucrezia,  indulging 
himself  with  them  in  all  sorts  of  pleasures,  even  the  expen- 
sive one  of  building,  idling  away  his  time,  so  that  when 
his  vacation  had  expired  he  had  not  only  squandered  all  of 
his  own  money  but  the  king’s.  Yet  holding  to  his  oath, 
he  had  determined  to  go  hack  and  make  his  peace  as  he 
best  could,  when  his  wife  dissuaded  him  from  it.  Never 
had  a king  behaved  more  royally  to  an  artist,  and  never 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 


367 


had  an  artist  behaved  more  shabbily  to  a king.  Andrea 
perjured  himself  to  gratify  Lucrezia,  after  having  betrayed 
the  most  generous  of  trusts.  It  is  difficult  to  account  for 
her  persuading  him  from  returning,  for  Francis,  without 
doubt,  would  have  forgiven  the  loss  of  the  money  in  the 
gratification  of  new  works  from  him,  and  Andrea  would 
have  again  trimmed  his  sails  to  catch  the  favorable  gales 
of  fortune.  As  it  proved,  he  mortally  and  justly  offended 
Francis,  who  for  a long  period  would  not  even  look  at  one 
of  his  pictures,  and  threatened  if  he  could  get  him  into  his 
power  he  would  “ do  him  more  harm  than  he  had  before 
done  him  good.”  When  too  late  Andrea  repented  himself, 
and  sought  reinstatement  with  the  angry  monarch.  But 
his  efforts  were  fruitless  with  one  who  was  too  good  a 
judge  of  wanton  women  to  trust  any  one  who  trusted 
them. 

For  ten  years  longer  Andrea  dragged  on  a precarious 
existence,  always  painting,  but  with  a shattered  reputation, 
pained  conscience,  and  full  of  regrets  for  not  having  im- 
proved the  turn  in  his  tide  of  affairs  which  would  have 
more  than  satisfied  his  highest  ambition.  Through  all, 
however,  he  continued  to  be  attached  to  her  who  had 
tempted  him  to  his  ruin.  There  is  something  touching  in 
his  love  and  pride  for  this  selfish  woman  to  the  very  last  of 
his  ill-ordered  career,  despite  her  wayward  humors  and 
ungentle  moods  towards  him.  Just  before  his  death,  he 
took  up  a tile  and  called  to  her  u Come  here,  wife ; I will 
take  your  portrait  that  all  may  see  how  well  you  have  pre- 
served your  looks  even  at  this  age.”  But  whether  from 
caprice  or  that  the  allusion  to  her  matured  years  overbal- 
anced the  compliment  to  her  beauty,  she  pettishly  refused, 
and  so  he  drew  that  last  sad  portrait  of  himself  instead, 
now  in  the  Uffizi,  in  which  his  altered  mien  and  for- 


368 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 


tunes  have  come  down  to  us  as  a moral  legacy.  Shortly 
after  this  ungracious  passage  towards  her  husband  she 
committed  her  final  one,  of  leaving  him  when  attacked 
by  the  plague  to  die  in  wretched  solitude,  without  the 
poor  consolation  of  breathing  his  last  in  the  arms  of  her 
he  had  loved  so  weakly,  and  indeed  “ almost  without  any 
one  being  aware  of  it,”  as  Vasari  says,  except  the  Bare- 
footed Brethren  of  the  Servites,  who  buried  him  with  scanty 
ceremony.  The  tougher  Lucrezia  survived  for  forty  years, 
but  we  hear  nothing  more  of  her  subsequent  career,  except 
that  she  received,  what  she  little  deserved,  certain  money 
due  Andrea  at  his  decease. 

Andrea,  as  an  artist,  was  in  high  repute  in  his  own  day. 
His  fame  has  always  been  upon  the  same  level,  suffering 
no  fluctuations,  for  it  is  founded  upon  qualities  readily  un- 
derstood and  appreciated.  Few  artists  have  ever  enjoyed 
more  and  superior  opportunities  for  wealth  and  distinction. 
He  was  attached  to  his  profession,  a close  student;  when 
free  from  his  evil  genius,  working  incessantly  and  making 
satisfactory  progress.  The  public  gave  him  abundantly  of 
that  kind  of  appreciation  which  cheers  and  stimulates  more 
than  money.  Michel  Angelo  said  to  Raphael  of  him, 
though  doubtless  more  to  mortify  his  amiable  rival  than  to 
exalt  Andrea,  “ There  is  a little  fellow  in  Florence,  who,  if 
he  had  the  opportunities  that  you  have  for  great  under- 
takings, would  compel  you  to  look  well  about  you.”  In- 
deed he  was  enough  praised,  had  he  beeu  a vain  man,  to 
have  turned  his  head  and  made  him  think  himself  upon  the 
same  level  with  those  great  masters.  He  has  always  re- 
mained a favorite  with  the  public  at  large.  But  the  shadow 
that  passed  over  his  soul  after  his  marriage  so  darkened 
his  spirit  that  whatever  elevation  of  mind  might  have  been 
developed  under  more  favorable  auspices  from  out  of  his 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 


369 


impressible  nature  was  forever  lost  to  him,  and  he  never 
manifested  his  full  intellectual  capacity.  The  seductions 
of  his  manner  blind  many  to  his  real  deficiencies.  He 
painted  with  much  freedom,  sweetness,  and  grace.  His 
modelling  was  excellent,  draperies  flowing  and  easy,  action 
harmonious,  and  his  management  of  chiaroscuro  and  soft  in- 
terblending of  tints,  giving  a misty,  poetical,  sensuous  at- 
mosphere to  his  pictures,  very  attractive.  Whenever  the 
moral  faculties  are  dark  or  clouded,  the  tendency  to  confu- 
sion of  colors  is  obvious  in  artists,  resulting  in  puzzling, 
vapory  tones,  sometimes  beautiful,  as  if  the  halo  of  truth 
was  seeking  to  force  its  rays  through  the  fog  of  the  senses. 
This  is  seen  particularly  in  those  in  whom,  like  Andrea, 
there  is  at  bottom  an  undeniable  instinct  for  better  things, 
choked  though  it  may  be  by  the  grosser  manifestations  of 
character.  Piero  di  Cosimo,  Bazzi,  and  Andrea  del  Sarto 
are  a middle  class  of  colorists;  equally  removed  from  the 
spiritual  hues  of  the  school  of  Fra  Angelico  on  the  one  side, 
and  of  the  ruffian  sensualists  that  disgraced  the  Neapolitan 
on  the  other.  There  are  artists  of  the  quality  of  Leonardo 
and  the  Bolognese  eclectics,  in  whom  the  intellectual  ele- 
ments dominate,  their  coloring  being  a pictorial  transcript 
of  their  reason  ; each  hue  the  result  of  study,  experiment, 
and  scientific  deduction.  They  incline  to  coldness  and  ab- 
straction, and  the  pleasure  or  dislike  they  inspire  depends 
upon  our  mental  appreciation  of  their  works.  They  seldom 
excite  feeling,  but  often  admiration,  for  it  is  rarely  that 
they  are  able  to  infuse  the  intellectual  element  with  such 
emotional  power,  as  by  their  just  balance  to  arrive  at  that 
unity  of  expression  which  makes  perfect  art. 

In  dignity,  versatility,  and  purity  of  conception,  Andrea’s 
earlier  compositions  are  his  best.  At  no  time  did  he  man- 
ifest great  power  and  scope.  His  frescoes  in  the  Annun- 


370 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 


ciata  are  picturesque,  varied,  and  beautiful ; vigorously 
naturalistic,  with  much  good  taste  in  the  accessories,  grace- 
ful grouping,  and  lively  movement.  His  motives  are  fre- 
quently composite,  influenced  by  each  branch  of  the  great 
Florentine  school.  He  attains,  however,  to  a marked  indi- 
viduality of  style,  with  which  numerous  artists  of  less  tal- 
ent became  greatly  enamored,  and  which  retains  its  popu- 
larity to  this  day.  He  is  wanting  in  depth,  earnest  pur- 
pose, and  seriousness.  In  his  later  years  he  became  more 
or  less  mannered,  chiefly  in  attitudes,  though  his  design 
seldom  was  other  than  correct  and  forcible,  and  his  execu- 
tion free  and  delicate.  With  his  vivacity  and  sensibility 
he  is  always  pleasing.  Towards  the  close  of  his  life  he 
verged  on  superficiality  in  thought  and  execution.  One 
detects  in  him  the  seeds  of  the  decline  in  painting  which 
ultimately  settled  upon  Tuscany.  Yet  when  he  chose,  he 
could  so  closely  imitate  the  manner  of  Raphael  as  to  de- 
ceive the  best  judges.  Contrasted  with  the  noblest  art  of 
his  country,  then  in  its  prime,  it  is  surprising  that  he  should 
have  been  called  “Andrea  the  faultless;”  exaggerated 
praise,  which  must  have  sprung  from  a change  in  the  pub- 
lic taste  not  for  the  better.  His  many  merits  will,  how- 
ever, always  conserve  to  him  an  honorable  rank  in  art. 
He  is  best  seen  in  the  Pitti  Gallery,  which,  in  view  of  the 
number  of  his  masterpieces  it  contains,  might  be  considered 
as  his  monument.  His  misfortunes,  temptations,  and  des- 
olate end  will  also  ever  excite  in  the  public  heart  a sympa- 
thy for  the  man. 

Andrea  had  many  scholars  and  imitators,  to  whom  must 
be  attributed  the  larger  part  of  the  many  paintings  in  all 
parts  of  Europe  baptized  with  his  name.  One  of  the  clev- 
erest of  these  pupils,  and  who  went  to  France  with  him, 
was  Andrea  Squazzella. 


FRANCIABIGIO. 


371 


Franciabigio  (1483—1524)  was  Andrea’s  attached  friend 
and  constant  companion.  Though  hy  no  means  his  equal, 
he  approaches  him  closely  in  manner,  as  may  he  noticed  in 
those  frescoes  in  the  Annunciata  which  he  painted  in  ami- 
cable competition  with  him.  He  has  not,  however,  his 
correctness  of  design,  grace,  and  charm  of  color,  nor  as 
much  vivacity  and  fertility  of  invention,  though  clever  in 
all  these  points.  The  “ Marriage  of  the  Virgin  is  a 
monument  of  his  temper  as  well  as  his  talents,  the  former 
being  as  decidedly  artistic  as  the  latter.  In  their  eagerness 
to  honor  a festival,  without  consulting  him,  the  monks  took 
the  liberty  to  expose  to  the  multitude  his  and  Andrea’s 
frescoes,  before  his  was  ready  for  exhibition.  No  sooner  did 
he  hear  what  they  had  done,  than  he  ran  in  hot  haste  to  the 
spot,  snatched  up  a hammer,  beat  to  pieces  the  charming 
head  of  the  Virgin,  and  with  furious  blows  proceeded  to 
ruin  other  portions  of  his  work.  The  horrified  brethren 
hearing  the  noise  rushed  to  the  rescue,  and  finally  succeed- 
ed in  dragging  him  off.  But  his  indignation  was  so  great 
that  although  they  offered  him  a large  sum  to  restore  the 
picture  he  would  never  consent ; and  as  no  other  artist  has 
ever  been  bold  enough  to  undertake  it,  the  injury  remains 
as  fresh  as  if  done  yesterday. 

Yet  the  chronicler  naively  adds,  “ This  master  was  a 
great  lover  of  peace,  and  for  that  reason  would  never  mar- 
ry, but  was  often  heard  repeating  the  trite  proverb, 

‘ He  who  takes  a wife 
May  be  sure  of  cares  and  strife.’  ” 

A natural  conclusion  for  the  most  intimate  friend  of  An- 
drea ! Perhaps  Franciabigio’s  own  shoulders  had  received 
some  of  the  vixenish  blows  which  the  ungentle  Lucrezia, 
with  “ evil  words  and  despiteful  actions,”  was  wont  to 
administer  to  the  disciples  of  her  husband,  who  living 


372 


PONTORMO. 


“ in  the  midst  of  all  that  torment  yet  accounted  it  a high 
pleasure.”  * 

II  Rosso,  who  died  in  1541,  and  Domenico  Puligo 
(1475—1 527)  are  also  of  this  school.  The  former  in  his 
best  pictures  closely  resembles  Andrea,  but  without  his 
charm  of  manner.  His  masterpiece  is  in  the  Pitti,  in  an 
unfavorable  light  between  two  windows,  and  therefore  sel- 
dom noticed,  though  at  a casual  glance  it  would  be  mis- 
taken for  one  of  Andrea’s.  His  hot,  reddish  tints,  however, 
invariably  betray  their  real  author.  Puligo’s  Holy  Families 
also  have  much  resemblance  to  those  of  Andrea  del  Sarto, 
though  darker  and  more  misty  in  coloring,  and  without 
equal  delicacy  of  chiaroscuro.  He  is  not  a pleasing  artist, 
and  had  no  real  devotion  for  art,  painting  chiefly  to  raise 
money  for  his  sensual  pleasures,  and  finally  died  of  the 
plague  caught  in  the  house  of  a mistress. 

The  most  distinguished  of  Andrea’s  disciples  was  Jacobo 
Carucci  da  Pontormo  (1493-1  <558).  His  career  com- 
menced brilliantly.  He  manifested  so  much  force  and 
originality  as  to  win  the  highest  commendations  from 
Raphael  and  Michel  Angelo,  the  latter  saying,  “ If  this 
youth  lives,  and  goes  on  as  he  has  begun,  he  will  carry 
this  art  to  the  very  skies.”  Indeed  Andrea  seemed  to 
think  so  too,  for  he  grew  so  jealous  of  his  talents  as  to 
drive  him  from  his  studio.  But  this  youthful  promise  was 
not  confirmed  by  his  maturity.  In  his  best  specimens  he 
is  grander  than  his  master,  more  inventive,  not  inferior  in 
sentiment  or  coloring,  and  has  bolder  relief.  His  intense 
solicitude  for  technical  excellence  led  him  to  neglect  the 
greater  for  the  less.  Lacking  self-reliance  or  artistic  cour- 
age, he  was  constantly  imitating  others,  at  one  time  adopt- 
ing an  incongruous  manner  by  introducing  the  motives  and 


* Vasari,  first  edition. 


ECCENTRICITIES  OF  ARTISTS, 


373 


style  of  the  German  artists  into  those  in  which  he  had  been 
trained,  and  not  unfrequently  captivated  by  the  works  of 
men  of  much  inferior  capacity  to  himself.  Beside  the  false 
roads  by  which  he  was  led  astray,  he  had  the  habit  of  un- 
doing his  work  and  recommencing  it,  continually  changing 
without  advancing. 

If  the  eccentricities # of  artists  ever  find  a historian, 

* We  get  a capital  idea  of  the  character  of  the  amusements  of  the  Florentine 
artists  and  “ fast  men  ” at  this  time  from  the  following  description  of  a festival, 
taken  from  the  Life  of  Giovan  Francesco  Rustici,  the  sculptor  and  architect, 
a great  friend  of  Leonardo,  and  member  of  the  eccentric  society  called  “ The 
Trowel.” 

“ Another  time,  and  when  Matteo  da  Panzano  was  master  of  the  feast,  the 
supper  was  ordered  after  the  following  manner.  Ceres,  seeking  Proserpine, 
her  daughter,  who  had  been  carried  off  by  Pluto,  entered  the  apartment  where- 
in all  the  men  of  ‘ The  Trowel  ’ were  assembled,  and  presenting  herself  before 
the  Signore,  begged  that  he  with  his  guests  would  be  pleased  to  accompany 
her  to  the  infernal  regions.  To  this  request,  after  much  discussion,  the  Society 
consented,  agreeing  to  follow  her  guidance.  They  then  proceeded  to  a dark- 
ened chamber,  where,  in  place  of  a door,  they  found  the  open  mouth  of  a ser- 
pent, the  head  of  which  filled  all  one  side  of  the  room.  While  assembled 
around  this  door,  Cerberus  barking  furiously,  Ceres  inquired  if  her  lost  child 
were  there.  Upon  being  told  that  she  was,  the  mother  replied  that  she  desired 
to  receive  her  daughter  back. 

“ But  Pluto  refused  to  give  her  up  ; at  the  same  time  he  invited  Ceres  and 
her  friends  to  the  nuptials,  which  were  then  about  to  be  solemnized.  Accept- 
ing the  invitation,  they  all  passed  through  the  serpent’s  mouth,  which  was 
armed  with  teeth,  and,  opening  and  shutting  on  hinges,  permitted  only  two  of 
the  guests  to  pass  at  a time.  By  degrees,  however,  the  whole  assembly  got  in, 
when  they  found  themselves  in  a vast  chamber  of  a circular  form,  which  had 
but  one  small  glimmer  of  fight  in  the  centre,  and  this  burnt  so  faintly  that  the 
guests  could  not  distinguish  each  other  without  difficulty.  Here  they  were 
forced  into  their  seats,  which  surrounded  a table  covered  with  black,  by  a most 
hideous-looking  devil,  who  drove  each  to  his  place  with  a huge  toasting-fork. 
Pluto,  however,  commanded  that,  in  honor  of  his  wedding,  the  pains  of  hell 
should  cease  during  all  the  time  that  the  guests  remained. 

“ Around  the  chamber  there  were  painted  the  horrible  places  and  caverns 
of  the  regions  of  the  damned,  with  their  terrific  pains  and  torments.  In  an  in- 
stant, and  with  the  swiftness  of  a flash  of  lightning,  fire  being  set  to  a match 
prepared  for  the  purpose,  there  sprang  up  flames  in  each  of  those  cavernous 
dungeons,  disclosing  the  frightful  manner  in  which  the  dwellers  in  those  dis- 
mal abodes  were  tormented. 

“ The  viands  of  this  infernal  supper  were  all  presented  under  the  forms  of 
the  most  abominable,  disgusting,  and  repulsive-looking  animals  ; though  be- 


374  “the  trowel.” 

Pontormo’s  will  figure  largely.  He  was  very  provoking 
to  self-inflated,  would-be  patrons,  and  wealthy  amateurs  de- 
sirous of  his  paintings,  not  excepting  Octavio  de’  Medici. 
From  them  he  was  accustomed  absolutely  to  refuse  orders 
at  any  price,  while  accepting  commissions  at  inferior  rates 
from  the  common  people,  and  taking  the  greatest  possible 


neath  the  hideous  covering  of  pastry  or  other  materials  there  were  in  fact  con- 
cealed the  most  exquisite  meats,  in  the  richest  and  most  costly  variety.  The 
skin  and  the  external  parts  caused  these  eatables  to  appear  like  serpents, 
adders,  lizards,  newts,  great  venomous  spiders,  toads,  frogs,  scorpions,  bats, 
and  animals  of  similar  kind,  which  were  to  be  forced  upon  the  guests.  These 
were  placed  before  each  guest  with  a fire-shovel,  under  the  direction  of  the 
huge  devil  before  mentioned,  while  a comrade  of  his  brought  wines  of  the 
finest  qualities  in  vessels  of  hideous  forms,  and  these  he  poured  into  ladles 
looking  like  such  as  are  used  for  melting  glass,  and  which  served  the  guests 
as  beakers.  After  these  first  dishes,  sweetmeats  and  fruits  were  placed  on  the 
table  as  if  the  supper  was  already  finished ; but  these  fruits  and  confections, 
which  were  cast  about  and  rudely  scattered  all  over  the  table,  were  apparently 
relics  of  the  dead,  although  in  fact  the  seeming  bones  were  most  delicate  com- 
positions of  sugar,  &c.  This  being  done,  command  was  given  by  Pluto  (who 
announced  that  he  was  then  going  to  his  repose)  to  the  effect  that  the  ordi- 
nary pains  should  recommence,  and  the  condemned  be  tormented  anew ; 
whereupon  the  lights  by  which  the  places  of  torture  had  been  previously  shown 
were  instantaneously  extinguished,  ay,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  at  the 
same  moment  there  arose  sounds  of  infinite  horror,  groans  of  the  suffering, 
fearful  cries,  and  exclamations  full  of  terror.  Then,  in  the  midst  of  that  dark- 
ness, and  holding  a faint  light  which  did  but  just  permit  him  to  be  seen,  ap- 
peared the  form  of  Baja,  the  artillery -man,  who  was  one  of  the  guests,  but  who 
had  now  been  condemned  to  hell  by  Pluto,  because  in  preparing  fireworks 
and  ‘ girandole  ’ he  had  always  confined  his  inventions  to  a representation  of 
the  seven  mortal  sins,  and  things  appertaining  to  the  realms  of  the  infernal 
king. 

“ While  all  were  occupied  with  that  spectacle  and  in  listening  to  those  out- 
cries, lamentations,  and  moanings,  the  whole  of  the  grisly  sight  was  swept 
away,  and  lights  then  appearing,  there  was  seen  in  its  stead  the  most  royal 
and  magnificent  preparation  for  a supper,  which  was  instantly  laid  with  all 
respect  by  well-appointed  and  watchfully  obedient  servants.  At  the  end  of 
the  feast,  a ship  laden  with  choice  confections  appeared,  and  this  the  masters 
thereof,  as  men  who  were  selling  their  merchandise,  distributed  among  the 
company  ; when  ail  the  viands  were  thus  disposed  of,  the  guests  were  con- 
ducted into  the  upper  rooms,  where  a much  renowned  comedy  called  ‘ Pliilo- 
genia,’  for  which  very  splendid  and  beautiful  decorations  had  been  prepared, 
was  performed ; after  which  all  departed,  in  the  dawn  of  the  morning,  having 
been  infinitely  delighted,  to  their  respective  homes.” 


PONTORMO. 


S75 


pains  to  give  them  his  best  work.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  so  adverse  to  society  of  any  kind  that  he  built  a 
chamber  in  his  house  which  could  be  entered  only  through 
a trap-door,  by  means  of  a ladder,  which  he  drew  up  after 
him.  He  lived  entirely  alone,  dispensing  even  with  a 
cook.  Without  being  miserly,  he  was  frugal,  amiable,  and 
unenvious  of  success  in  others ; greatly  beloved  by  those 
whose  intimacy  he  admitted,  always  respected  for  his  in- 
disputable talents,  and  at  his  death  was  borne  to  the  grave 
by  all  of  his  professional  brethren,  sincerely  lamenting  his 
departure. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


The  three  great  Representative  Painters  of  the  Past  Epochs.  The  three  great 
Masters  of  the  Climax  of  Italian  Painting.  Confession  and  Plea  of  the  Au- 
thor. Leonardo  da  Vinci,  1452-1519,  the  Complete  Artist.  His  Person, 
Acquirements,  Genius,  and  Character.  As  a Scientist,  Philosopher,  and 
Artist.  His  own  Preference.  Maxims  and  Methods.  His  Peminine  Ideal. 
The  “ Last  Supper.”  Mode  of  Composition.  Master  of  Expression.  Por- 
traiture. Rarity  of  his  Works.  Illness  and  Death.  Religious  Sentiments 
and  Will.  Leonardo  as  a Eailure  and  a Success.  Time  and  Eortune  envi- 
ous of  him.  His  Quarrel  with  Michel  Angelo.  Comparison  between  Giotto 
and  Leonardo.  Their  respective  Eriends. 


Three  great  representative  men  in  art,  Giotto,  Ma- 
saccio, and  Fra  Angelico,  have  appeared  and  passed  away 
in  that  panorama  of  its  Progress  which  we  have  sought  to 
depict,  leaving  behind  them  ideas  and  principles  that  won- 
drously  fructified  and  spread  along  the  road  of  Time  ; some 
by  natural  growth,  others  by  grafting,  yielding  a richly 
diversified  harvest,  though  not  incarnating  themselves  in 
other  great,  original  forms,  profound  in  the  knowledge  of 
the  Past  and  quickened  by  that  genius  that  of  itself  cre- 
ates new  and  distinct  epochs,  until  the  aesthetic  soil  of  old 
Etruria,  ever  so  fertile  in  intellect,  gave  being  to  Leonardo 
da  Vinci,  Michel  Angelo  Buonarotti,  and  Raffaello  Santi, 
another  illustrious  triad,  each  embodying  in  a distinct  man- 
ner not  only  all  preceding  progress,  but  giving  to  painting 
a climax  of  development  as  yet  unsurpassed  in  its  Christian 
phase.  By  representative  men  we  mean  more  particularly 
those  artists,  each  of  whom,  according  to  his  epoch,  origi- 
nates and  establishes  some  new  and  profound  phase  of 


REPRESENTATIVE  ARTISTS. 


877 


progress,  complete  in  itself,  and  affording  to  his  succes- 
sors a standard  of  excellence  and  thoroughness  of  thought 
which  for  ages  continues  to  he  inexhaustible  and  une- 
quailed.  Such  an  one  centres  in  himself  vast  and  varied 
powers,  joined  to  a distinctness  of  aim,  founded  upon  a su- 
perior comprehension  of  the  compass  and  meaning  of  art. 
Moreover  his  genius  impels  him  onward  with  the  force  of 
an  irresistible  will.  All  men  find  in  the  completeness  of 
such  an  artist  something  alike  pleasurable  and  intelligible ; 
hut  only  to  those  with  a kindred  measure  of  soul  is  it  given 
to  appreciate  the  full  scope  of  his  being.  Broad  minds  grasp 
truths  both  broad  and  particular ; while  narrow  minds  see 
only  those  points  towards  which  their  own  personal  little- 
nesses of  liking  gravitate.  And  in  listening  to  criticism  on 
art  the  inquirer  should  not  only  test  its  worth  by  the  ability 
of  the  utterer  to  understand  the  whole  spirit  of  the  artist  and 
to  feel  his  purpose,  but  to  at  once  instinctively  fix  the  mind 
of  that  artist  on  the  exact  level  of  its  quality  of  thought 
and  feeling. 

The  intellectual  and  technical  expansion  of  art  suggested 
by  Giotto  and  Masaccio,  yielded  its  ripened  fruit  in  the  great 
names  above  given.  Fra  Angelico  stands  too  faraway, 
the  representative  of  the  purest  spirituality,  to  be  intimately 
classed  with  the  other  two.  His  was  a special  gift ; a su- 
pernal vision  as  exceptional  as  it  was  holy.  He  still  re- 
mains the  most  elevated  standard  of  pietism  in  art,  largely 
influencing  subsequent  work  born  of  like  inspiration.  There- 
fore, while  confessing  the  triumph  of  Leonardo,  Raphael, 
and  Michel  Angelo  in  every  other  phase  of  artistic  growth 
over  their  predecessors,  to  Fra  Angelico  must  still  be  re- 
served the  power  of  that  sentiment  that  made  his  art  savor 
more  of  heaven  than  earth.  Praying,  fasting,  and  medi- 
tating intently  on  divine  tilings,  his  pencil  was  moved  by 


378 


REPRESENTATIVE  ARTISTS. 


ecstatic  vision,  and  he  saw  the  heavens  opened;  chariots 
of  fire  and  its  angelic  hosts.  They  went  out  into  the  world 
of  nature  to  read  its  lessons,  cull  its  forms,  and  learn  its 
language.  While  seeking  to  vitalize  their  work  with  its 
appropriate  thought  and  feeling,  their  models  were  chiefly 
drawn  from  the  visible  and  tangible  about  them,  under  the 
strict  governance  of  science ; the  imagination  being  kept, 
as  it  were,  as  a reserved  fountain  of  idealization,  suggest- 
ing that  which  science  was  called  upon  to  execute.  In 
some  respects,  as  will  be  shown  in  its  proper  place,  Michel 
Angelo  in  his  best  moments  is  akin  to  Fra  Angelico  in  the 
power  of  the  spiritual  faculty ; for  although  their  forms  so 
widely  differ,  yet  they  largely  partake  of  a similar  degree  — 
not  quality  — of  idealization,  in  both  it  being  projected 
from  the  artist’s  interior  sense  or  vision.  The  imaginative 
faculty  in  all  of  them  was  varied,  vigorous,  and  inventive ; 
neither  wanton,  eccentric,  nor  exaggerated,  but  subdued  to 
reason,  and  thus  giving  a beautiful  soul  to  their  creations. 
Hence  they  convince  as  well  as  excite.  As  with  all  well- 
balanced  master-minds,  they  handled  their  faculties  know- 
ingly and  well,  feeling  being  subordinate  to  intellect,  yet 
retaining  its  legitimate  influence  over  it.  But  what  was 
easy  and  natural  in  them,  in  their  followers  ultimately 
degenerated  into  the  extinction  of  sentiment  and  the  reduc- 
tion of  painting  to  a system  of  barren  intellectual  and  me- 
chanical formulae,  such  imaginations  as  they  had  being  pain- 
fully worked,  as  a gold-seeker  does  his  placer  with  rocker 
and  sifter  and  far-brought  water,  to  find  perchance  some 
stray  grains  of  gold.  In  consequence,  while  the  action  of 
the  former  was  spontaneous  and  noble,  that  of  their  mere 
imitators  became  in  time  artificial  and  ignoble,  because, 
without  genius  to  discern  the  true  and  create  the  beautiful, 
conceiving  that  art  was  the  result  of  mere  method,  to  be 


THE  AUTHORS  CONFESSION. 


379 


acquired  by  a fixed  routine  of  study  and  practice,  ser- 
vilely adhering  to  chosen  examples,  they  stumbled  into  all 
manner  of  technical  exaggerations  and  weaknesses,  more 
repulsive  by  far  than  the  primitive  ignorance  of  design  of 
earlier  art,  which,  however  much  it  caricatured  the  human 
form  divine,  still  endowed  it  with  soul,  while  its  wretched 
successor,  at  the  other  extreme  of  painting,  left  humanity 
not  formless  but  void. 

In  conformity  with  the  rule  we  have  adopted  in  previous 
sketches  of  artistic  character,  a limited  space  confining  us 
to  mere  touches  of  light  and  shade,  inadequate  to  other 
than  a brief,  dynamic,  chronological  view  of  its  technical 
and  psychological  aspects,  unsatisfactory  in  comparison 
with  the  real  importance  of  the  subject  but  perhaps  quite 
enough  to  fatigue  the  good-nature  of  the  general  reader, 
we  shall  condense  as  much  as  possible  the  notices  of  Leo- 
nardo and  his  companions.  In  verity,  each  of  their  lives  is 
of  itself  a historic  epoch  in  art,  and  although  many  vol- 
umes have  been  written  thereon,  a perfect  understanding 
of  their  relation  to  the  civilization  of  their  times  and  influ- 
ence upon  subsequent  art  has  yet  to  be  given  to  the  world. 
Restricted  to  a few  pages,  can  we  sketch  their  personal 
and  aesthetic  characteristics  with  justice  to  them  and  clear- 
ness to  those  whose  taste  for  the  topic  has  fortified  their 
patience  thus  far  I A writer  on  art  in  America  has  need 
of  hope  and  courage,  quite  as  much  as  of  conscience  and 
zeal.  Hope  to  sustain  him  in  face  of  the  unpalatable  fact 
that,  unlike  almost  any  other  department  of  literature,  he 
has  but  a very  limited  audience,  with  the  certainty  of  hav- 
ing to  provide  at  his  own  expense  the  intellectual  repast  he 
offers,  be  its  quality  what  it  may,  and  courage  for  two 
reasons  of  greater  cogency.  First,  his  subject  addresses 
itself  to  the  most  cultivated  classes,  and  therefore  the  most 


380 


THE  AUTHOR  S CONFESSION. 


exacting ; while  from  its  alliance  to  taste,  the  laws  of 
which  are  still  so  unshaped,  he  attracts  to  himself  as  it  were 
a guerilla  war  of  criticism,  rather  than  systematic  attack 
based  upon  generally  acknowledged  principles.  Secondly, 
and  of  far  greater  weight,  is  the  fear  that  arises  within 
himself,  in  treating  so  familiarly  of  those  whose  earthly 
careers  have  long  since  blended  into  the  romance  quite  as 
much  as  the  histories  of  the  Past,  especially  when  they  em- 
brace such  wide  and  diversified  feelings  and  opinions,  for- 
eign in  tongue,  habits,  race,  and  religion  to  his  own,  that 
he  may,  however  scrupulous,  not  discern  the  entire  truth, 
or,  discerning,  fail  from  poverty  of  language  in  making  it 
plain  to  others,  and  thus,  though  guiltless  in  intention, 
mislead  in  fact,  to  the  wrong  of  those  whose  articulate 
speech  will  never  again  be  heard  amongst  us.  Their  mem- 
ories are  a sacred  trust  for  our  welfare,  if  their  good  sur- 
vive them  ; and  if  evil,  duty  requires  the  notes  of  warning 
to  be  sounded  in  the  ears  of  to-day,  that  we  may  not  repeat 
their  experience.  Most  discouraging  of  all  is  the  con- 
sciousness of  fuller  desire  than  power  to  present  the  claims 
of  art,  and  to  picture  the  enjoyment  it  confers  upon  those 
who  sympathetically  greet  it.  But  this  or  other  discour- 
agement shall  not  hinder  us  from  casting  our  mite  into 
the  intellectual  treasury  of  our  country ; sustained,  nay 
more,  urged  on,  by  the  reward  the  subject  itself  has  con- 
ferred upon  our  own  increased  sources  of  instruction  and 
happiness.  Surely  we  do  not  impose  upon  our  fellow-citi- 
zens, if,  to  an  aesthetic  bias  having  added  many  years, 
study  and  experience  at  the  fountain-heads  of  noble  art, 
we  ask  them,  with  all  due  deference  to  the  more  engross- 
ing pursuits  which  have  hitherto  engaged  their  faculties,  to 
accept  our  voluntary  labors.  Haply  amongst  them  there 
will  arise  those  who  to  equal  feeling  will  add  superior  at- 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


381 


tainments,  and  thus  make  good  to  the  public  the  deficien- 
cies of  this  work.  With  this  digression,  taking  fresh  heart, 
we  proceed  to  that  point  of  view  of  our  subject  which  is 
the  richest  and  most  difficult  to  successfully  portray ; the 
more  important,  as  being  its  highest  point  of  intellectual 
development.  When  it  passed,  the  decadence  of  art  in 
Tuscany  was  rapid  and  thorough. 

The  first  in  time  and  the  greatest  in  personal  advantages 
and  mental  acquirements  of  the  three  great  masters  who 
terminate  the  wonderful  artistic  epoch  thus  far  traced  is 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  the  natural  son  of  Piero  da  Vinci,  a 
notary  of  Florence,  born  in  the  town  of  Vinci  in  the  Val- 
darno,  in  1453.  Of  him  Vasari  sententiously  remarks, 
“ The  richest  gifts  are  sometimes  seen  to  be  showered  as 
by  celestial  influence  on  certain  human  beings ; nay,  they 
occasionally  supernaturally  and  marvellously  congregate  in 
one  sole  person : beauty,  grace,  and  talent  being  united  in 
such  a manner  that  to  whatever  the  man  thus  favored  may 
turn  himself  his  every  action  is  so  divine  as  to  leave  all 
other  men  far  behind  him,  and  manifestly  to  prove  that  he 
has  been  specially  endowed  by  the  hand  of  God  himself, 
and  has  not  obtained  his  preeminence  by  human  teaching 
or  the  power  of  man.”  An  exordium  which  requires  great 
doing  to  reconcile  with  the  life  of  any  mortal,  but  which 
our  biographer  affirms  “ was  seen  and  admitted  by  all  men 
in  the  person  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci.” 

More  favored  than  Giotto,  he  had  rare  personal  beauty, 
was  exceedingly  well  made,  so  strong  that  he  could  twist 
a horseshoe  with  his  fingers,  and  perform  other  muscular 
feats  far  beyond  the  force  of  even  powerful  men.  He  ex- 
celled in  courtly  and  athletic  exercises,  the  use  of  arms  and 
horsemanship,  which  last  gave  him  great  delight.  His 
comeliness  and  strength  were  however  the  least  of  his  per- 


382 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


sonal  attractions.  44  The  radiance  of  his  countenance 
brought  cheerfulness  to  the  hearts  of  the  most  melancholy,” 
and  his  persuasive  voice  could  44  move  the  most  obstinate  ” 
to  say  44  No  ” or  44  Yes,”  as  he  willed.  But  even  his  fasci- 
nation of  manner  and  seductive  conversation  were  excelled 
by  his  skill  in  argument.  None  could  withstand  his  logic. 
Princes  and  beggars,  wise  men  or  fools,  were  alike  capti- 
vated by  his  varied  acquirements,  which  he  gracefully 
adapted  to  any  society  or  circumstance,  without  compro- 
mising his  own  dignity  or  morals.  Lomazzo  tells  us  that 
he  sometimes  invited  peasants  to  supper,  entertaining  them 
with  such  comical  stories  as  to  cause  immoderate  laughter, 
for  the  purpose,  after  their  withdrawal,  of  making  studies 
from  memory  of  their  extraordinary  contortions  and  ex- 
travagant mirth.  His  drawings  show  his  wonderful  skill 
in  this  respect  and  in  caricature.  But  his  social  predilec- 
tions were  for  those  who  were  distinguished  for  learning, 
talents,  or  goodness.  Hospitable  and  generous,  he  made 
no  distinctions  under  his  own  roof  between  the  rich  and 
poor,  provided  they  were  worthy  of  his  esteem.  He  lived 
handsomely,  keeping  many  domestics  and  horses.  Of  ani- 
mals he  was  very  fond,  treating  them  with  great  kindness. 
Indeed  he  had  a habit  of  going  to  the  bird-market,  buy- 
ing up  the  little  captives,  and  restoring  them  to  liberty. 

With  his  advantages  of  person,  position,  and  charm  of 
manner,  he  could  not  have  failed  in  captivating  the  sex  that 
prize  these  qualities  most  highly.  Yet  he  never  married, 
nor  is  there  any  ground  for  believing  that  he  ever  formed 
an  attachment,  platonic  or  otherwise,  for  any  female.  Sur- 
rounded as  he  was  by  the  beautiful  wantons  of  the  court  of 
Ludovico  il  Moro,  whose  portraits  he  was  required  to  paint, 
beside  those  of  virtuous  and  cultivated  ladies,  this  indiffer- 
ence is  somewhat  remarkable.  Neither  history  nor  tradition- 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI, 


383 


ary  gossip,  so  far  as  we  can  trace,  attribute  to  him  an  amour 
of  any  kind,  or  the  slightest  influence  over  him  of  womanly 
attractions.  In  this  respect  he  removes  himself  from  the 
common  sympathy  of  humanity.  No  doubt  it  was  the  re- 
sult of  his  predominating  intellectual  organization,  which 
kept  his  passions  comparatively  feeble  or  dormant,  though 
his  sentiments  were  kindly  to  all.  In  fact  he  concentrated 
his  affections  upon  no  person,  nor  upon  any  special  object. 
And  in  a great  measure  it  must  be  owing  to  this  want  of 
passionate  energy  and  special  ambition  that  his  extraordi- 
nary, nay  unique,  genius  never  produced  the  complete  and 
durable  results  which  its  capacity  and  comprehensiveness 
would  seem  to  authorize  the  world  to  expect. 

Leonardo  was  born  with  extraordinary  and  varied  facul- 
ties of  mind.  When  but  a small  boy  he  puzzled  his  teach- 
ers by  his  remarks  and  questions,  passing  with  perfect  ease 
and  intelligence  from  one  pursuit  to  another,  without  fixing 
his  attention  long  upon  any  subject.  Facility,  ingenuity, 
versatility,  industry,  inquisitiveness,  boldness,  and  thor- 
oughness ; a prodigious  memory,  a plastic  will,  a rich,  cre- 
ative imagination  and  inexhaustible  capacity  of  invention, 
a predominating  reason  holding  all  these  intellectual  and 
executive  resources  in  perfect  control,  undisturbed  or  mis- 
led by  illusions,  operating  with  mathematical  certainty,  and 
sustained  by  a physical  organization  as  strong  and  health- 
ful as  it  was  beautiful  and  untainted  by  vice ; such  was  the 
fundamental  force  and  universality  of  this  wonderful  being, 
who  was  perhaps  the  most  completely  endowed  man  by 
nature  of  all  time.  Whatever  he  turned  his  mind  to  he 
promptly  mastered.  His  weakness  lay  in  the  variety  and 
range  of  his  genius.  Hence  a craving  to  prove  all  things  ; 
a constant  desire  of  experiment  and  new  acquirements,  be- 
getting a certain  instability  of  purpose  and  frequent  changes 


384 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


of  pursuits,  in  any  one  of  which  he  equalled  or  excelled  his 
contemporaries,  without  bestowing  upon  it  the  full  measure 
of  his  capacity.  In  reality  he  was  embarrassed  by  his  ex- 
traordinary mental  wealth  and  power  of  choice  of  great- 
ness ; whilst  his  special  need  was  that  concentrated  ambi- 
tion which,  fired  by  powerful  passions,  inevitably  leads  on 
to  grand  undertakings  and  commensurate  results.  Even 
as  it  was,  his  piercing  inductive  intellect  anticipated  in 
physical  science  many  of  the  important  truths,  discoveries, 
and  inventions  which  have  since  brought  wealth  and  honor 
to  inferior  minds,  Alexander  von  Humboldt  considers  him 
to  be  “ the  greatest  physical  philosopher  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury.” Unfortunately  he  buried  his  scientific  lore  and  pre- 
science in  almost  illegible  manuscripts,  written  with  his  left 
hand  from  right  to  left,  and  which  were  bequeathed  to  the 
patience  and  skill  of  subsequent  times,  more  disposed  to  do 
him  justice  than  he  was  himself,  to  bring  to  light.* 

His  mental  bias  was  in  fact  more  towards  science  than 
art.  This  is  evident  from  his  long  and  varied  labors  as  a 
civil  and  military  engineer,  his  novel  and  useful  inventions, 
the  general  tenor  of  his  experiments  and  studies,  and  in- 
deed in  his  methods  of  art.  History  and  antiquities  also 
occupied  his  attention,  but  with  special  reference  to  utilizing 
the  experience  of  the  ancients  for  the  benefit  of  the  mod- 
erns. But  it  is  out  of  our  scope  to  follow  him  further  as 
a phil  osopher  or  scientist.  Accordingly,  let  us  turn  to  that 
department  of  his  universal  genius  in  which  he  is  most 
popularly  known  ; namely,  that  of  the  Artist. 

In  this  respect  his  range  was  equally  broad.  In  music 

* “ The  copious  fragments  of  his  MSS.  lying  inedited  in  the  Parisian  libra- 
ries would  be  sufficient  if  published  to  operate  a revolution  in  our  ideas  con- 
cerning the  history  of  modern  discovery.”  Italy,  L.  Mariotti,  vol.  ii.  p.  158. 
He  even  had  the  idea  to  employ  steam  as  a propelling  power.  See  Libri, 
vol.  iii. 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI, 


38.5 


he  excelled  the  best  professors  at  the  court  of  Milan,  in  a 
trial  of  skill  before  the  Duke.  His  instrument,  constructed 
by  himself,  was  a silver  lute,  shaped  externally  like  a 
horse  s head,  and  provided  with  an  ingenious  mechanism 
to  give  additional  force  and  sweetness  to  the  notes.  He 
sung  44  divinely,”  improvising  at  the  same  moment  the  mu- 
sic and  verses.  Of  his  poetry  hut  one  specimen,  preserved 
by  Lomazzo,  has  reached  us.  It  savors  more  of  philoso- 
phy than  the  muses,  and  more  of  ethics  than  either.  An 
English  version  by  Mrs.  Foster  renders  it  as  follows. 

“ If  what  thou  wouldst  thou  canst  not,  then  content  thee 
To  will  as  thou  mayst  act.  It  is  but  folly 
To  will  what  cannot  be  : soon  learns  the  wise 
To  wrest  his  will  from  bootless  wishes  free. 

“ Our  bliss  and  woe  depend  alike  on  knowledge 
Of  what  we  should  do,  and,  that  known,  to  do  it. 

But  he  alone  shall  compass  this  who  never 
Doth  warp  his  will  when  right  before  him  stands. 

“ All  he  can  do,  man  may  not  safely  will. 

Oft  seemeth  sweet  what  soon  to  bitter  turns. 

How  have  I wept  of  some  fond  wish  possessed  ! 

“ Thou,  therefore,  reader  of  these  lines,  wouldst  thou 
Count  with  the  good  and  to  the  good  be  dear  ? 

Will  only  to  be  potent  for  the  right.” 

Architect,  sculptor,  or  painter,  poet  or  musician,  which- 
ever path  of  art  allured  him,  Leonardo  had  hut  to  exercise 
his  will  and  he  was  equal  to  the  occasion  ! Kugler  con- 
siders that  44  the  centre  of  all  the  various  powers  of  this 
great  man  was  his  love  for  plastic  art.”  We  do  not  agree 
with  him.  The  utility  principle  of  the  mechanical  arts 
had  a stronger  attraction  for  him.  His  was  emphatically 
a mathematical,  constructive,  and  inventive  mind.  This 
predilection  not  only  diverted  him  from  plastic  art,  but 
when  occupied  with  it  and  painting,  by  seducing  him  into 


386 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


experiments  upon  vehicles,  the  practice  of  new  and  untried 
methods,  and  overmuch  attention  to  his  preparations,  need- 
lessly consumed  his  time,  and  hindered  the  development  of 
his  imagination,  though  his  genius  was  capable  of  equal 
exertion  at  the  same  time  in  the  greatest  efforts  of  practi- 
cal science  and  creative  art  when  necessity  prompted.  The 
canal  of  Mortesana,  which  brings  the  waters  of  the  Adda 
across  the  arduous  mountain-passes  of  the  Valtellina  arid 
through  the  territory  of  the  Chiavenna  for  more  than  two 
hundred  miles,  was  achieved  whilst  he  was  painting  his 
“ Last  Supper.”  The  construction  of  canals,  fortifications, 
bridges,  machinery,  the  tunnelling  and  removing  of  moun- 
tains, cleansing  and  deepening  of  harbors,  raising  of  pon- 
derous weights,  swimming  and  flying  machines,  compasses, 
hygrometers ; in  fine,  whatever  favored  science  and  mate- 
rial civilization,  he  earnestly  devoted  his  attention  to.  When 
matters  of  practical  importance  failed  him,  he  devised  curi- 
ous and  ingenious  toys,  or  amused  himself  in  making  fly- 
ing figures,  and  even  in  taming  a nondescript  lizard,  for 
which,  by  the  aid  of  quicksilver,  he  adapted  wings,  that 
when  the  reptile  moved  had  motion  and  appeared  real. 
Adding  horns,  a beard,  and  ghoul-like  eyes,  he  made  its 
entire  aspect  so  frightful  that  when  his  visitors  unexpect- 
edly came  upon  it  they  fled  in  alarm.  His  own  letter  to 
Duke  Ludovico,  recommending  himself,  dwells  with  com- 
placent emphasis  upon  the  “ secrets  ” he  has  discovered  in 
mechanics ; his  ability  as  a civil  and  military  engineer  and 
architect;  and  adds,  almost  parenthetically,  u furthermore, 
I can  execute  works  in  sculpture,  marble,  bronze,  or  terra- 
cotta. In  painting,  also,  I can  do  what  may  he  done  as 
well  as  any  other,  he  he  who  it  may;  ” — a hold  self-esti- 
mate of  a man  of  thirty.  The  letter  was  written  in  1483, 
the  year  of  Raphael’s  birth,  and  before  Michel  Angelo  had 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI.  387 

become  known  as  an  artist ; but  it  was  justified  by  the 
quality  and  results  of  his  genius. 

Without  further  indications  of  his  own  preferences,  he  was 
ready,  as  he  expresses  himself  in  that  manly  epistle,  to  exe- 
cute whatever  of  science  or  art  a competent  patron  would 
give  him  to  do;  the  latter,  however,  always  subordinated 
to  the  laws  of  the  former.  Feeling  never  weakened  him 
nor  led  him  astray  from  the  strictest  naturalistic  truth.  He 
learned  anatomy,  animal  and  human,  by  dissection  ; his  taste 
for  this  study  being  fostered  by  the  example  and  instruction 
of  Verrocchio.  The  by-gestures,  looks,  and  expressions  of 
all  classes  of  people,  scenes  in  public  or  private  life,  the 
pangs  of  remorseful  or  hardened  dying  criminals,  whatever 
was  ridiculous,  striking,  or  impressive,  he  carefully  sketched 
from  nature  at  the  moment  in  a note-book  always  at  hand. 
Neither  was  the  inanimate  world  overlooked.  No  phe- 
nomena or  facts  of  color,  design,  perspective,  — in  short, 
nothing  whatever  that  he  could  infuse  effectively  into  his 
art,  escaped  his  vigilant  observation.  The  result  of  these 
studies  he  incorporated  into  a manuscript  “Treatise  on 
Painting,”  which  has  since  been  published  in  several  Euro- 
pean languages,  in  various  illustrated  editions,  being  still  used 
as  a text-book.*  The  eighth  chapter  gives  the  key  to  his 
method.  “ A painter  should  be  universal.  He  must  study 
all  he  sees ; that  is  to  say,  consider  it  attentively,  and  by 
serious  reflection  seek  to  find  the  cause  of  that  which  he 
sees;  but  he  should  only  take  that  which  is  the  best  and  most 
perfect  for  his  work.  Thus,  as  a mirror  reflects  all  objects 
with  their  particular  colors  and  characters,  the  imagination 
of  a painter  accustomed  to  reflect  will  represent  to  him 
without  difficulty  all  that  is  most  beautiful  in  nature.”  j* 

* Vide  Memorie  Storiche  su  la  Vita  de  Leonardo  da  Vinci  da  Carlo  Amoretti. 
Milan,  1804.  Traite  de  la  Peinture  de  Leonard  de  Vinci.  Paris,  1808. 

t Some  of  his  rules  of  painting  may  interest  even  the  general  reader  as  hints 


388 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


Reflection,  law,  analysis,  synthesis;  nothing  permitted  to 
Feeling  until  sanctioned  by  Reason:  such  is  his  system  of 
art.  “No  painter  should  imitate  another,”  he  remarks. 
“Always  have  recourse  to  Nature  — consult  her  for  every- 
thing.” This  is  the  key  to  his  own  style.  His  instructions 
are  prosaically  minute.  He  sanctions  no  haste  or  sliirk- 

for  the  better  understanding  of  its  technical  execution.  He  divides  his  Treatise 
into  very  brief  chapters.  In  chap.  178  he  says  : “ The  first  object  of  a painter  is 
to  make  a simple  flat  surface  appear  like  a relievo  and  some  of  its  parts  detached 
from  the  ground.  He  who  excels  in  this  deserves  the  greatest  praise.  This 
perfection  depends  upon  the  correct  distribution  of  lights  and  shades,  called 
chiaroscuro.’" 

Chap.  193.  “ Contrive  that  your  figures  receive  a broad  light  from  above, 
particularly  in  portraits,  because  we  see  people  in  the  street  receive  all  the  light 
from  above.  It  is  curious  to  observe,  that  there  is  not  a face  ever  so  familiar 
but  would  be  recognized  with  difficulty  were  it  lighted  from  beneath.”  “ Do 
not  make  muscles  with  hard  fines,”  (this  was  the  practice  of  his  master 
Verrocchio,  the  Pollajuoli,  and  their  contemporaries,)  “but  let  the  soft  fight 
glide  upon  them  and  blend  into  delightful  shadows ; this  gives  grace  and  beauty 
to  the  face.” 

Chap.  234.  “ Black  is  the  most  beautiful  in  the  darks,  white  in  the  strongest 
fights,  blue  and  green  in  the  half-tints,  yellow  and  red  in  the  principal  fight, 
gold  in  the  reflexes,  and  lake  in  the  half-tint.” 

Leonardo  was  constantly  experimenting  to  find  means  of  giving  extraordinary 
projection  to  his  figures,  and,  never  contented  with  his  darkest  shadows  or 
grounds,  earnestly  sought  for  still  darker  tones,  hoping  in  the  end  to  discover 
a black  that  should  produce  a deeper  shadow  and  be  yet  darker  than  all  known 
blacks,  so  that  the  fights  by  contrast  would  be  more  lucid  and  forcible.  He  did 
succeed  in  producing  a dark  (“couleur  bitumineuse”)  in  Avhich  there  is  abso- 
lutely no  fight  left,  as  may  be  seen  in  some  of  his  pictures,  which  have  become 
injured  from  this  very  cause ; the  dark  ground  preparations  by  the  action  of 
time  showing  through  the  superimposed  color,  confusing  outlines  and  producing 
a general  obscurity,  greatly  to  the  detriment  of  those  effects  which  he  aimed  to 
secure,  and  which,  could  he  have  insured  his  colors  against  the  chemical  action 
of  time,  would  have  been  permanent. 

Chap.  263.  “ Avoid  making  dark  outlines  — do  not  make  the  boundaries  of 
your  figures  with  any  other  color  than  that  of  the  background  on  which  they 
are  placed.” 

Chap.  271.  “Tor  harmony  of  colors  contrast  blue  with  pale  yellow  or  white  ; 
green  near  red  — a pale  yellow  will  cause  red  to  appear  more  beautiful  than  if 
opposed  to  purple.” 

Chap.  181.  “ Take  care  that  the  shadows  and  fights  be  united,  or  lost  in  each 
other,  without  any  hard  strokes  or  fines  — as  smoke  loses  itself  in  air.” 

Chap.  191.  “Light  admitted  in  front  of  heads  situated  opposite  to  side  walls 
that  are  dark  will  cause  them  to  have  great  relief,  particularly  if  the  fight  be 


, 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI 


389 


ing.  Deep  study,  acute  observation,  unwearied  application, 
— these  are  his  own  attributes,  and  he  enforces  their  value 
upon  others.  Yet  with  all  this  elaboration  of  work,  few 
apparently  might  have  been  more  independent  of  long 
forethought  and  tedious  progress,  for  his  creative  capacity 
was  profound,  original,  and  full  of  vitality.  Not  only  was 

placed  high.  When  it  comes  from  on  high  it  does  not  strike  on  every  part  of 
the  face  alike,  hut  one  part  produces  great  shadows  upon  another  — the  light, 
concentrated  upon  the  most  projecting  parts,  produces  great  relief.” 

It  is  curious  to  observe  in  his  “ Holy  Family,”  plate  N,  figs.  40  and  41,  how 
literally,  even  to  contrast  of  colors,  the  above  rules  have  been  adhered  to, 
resulting  in  precisely  the  effects  he  strives  for,  plus  the  deepening  of  the  darks 
and  the  increased  impression  of  outlines  from  the  shadows  having  grown  more 
obscure  by  time,  producing  an  effect  beyond  the  power  of  the  mere  imitator  or 
copier  to  rival,  so  that  these  very  defects  are  an  additional  guarantee  of 
the  authenticity  of  the  picture,  which  otherwise  is  in  a perfect  and  intact  condi- 
tion. Its  unfinished  heads,  mingled  strength,  fineness,  and  firmness  of  touch, 
minuteness  without  littleness  in  the  details  of  the  background,  are  equally 
characteristic  of  him.  Among  his  not  unfrequent  repetitions  of  this  subject 
he  speaks  of  two  himself,  in  1507,  in  letters  from  Florence  to  Francesco  Melzi 
and  Girolamo  Casano  at  Milan,  (Gaye,  Carteggio,  vol.  ii.  pp.  96,  97,)  as  being  of 
“ different  sizes,”  which  he  has  commenced  and  nearly  finished — “ che  io  ho 
comminciati ; ” and  “ che  me  sono  avanzati,  condotti  in  assai  buon  punto.”  No  traces 
of  these  two  are  now  known,  unless  this  he  one  of  them  : the  more  probable  ac- 
count is  that  it  was  preserved  until  1852  in  a family  living  within  a few  miles  of 
Yinci,  who  left  it  by  testament  to  a gentleman  of  Florence,  from  whose  hands 
it  passed  into  ours  by  means  of  one  intermediate.  The  composition  is  wholly 
original.  The  magnificent  relief  of  the  head  of  the  Child,  its  perfect  design, 
intense,  far-reaching  expression,  as  if  its  sad  earthly  destiny  was  even  now  laid 
open  to  its  soul,  can  be  the  production  of  no  less  a hand  than  his.  For  further 
particulars  of  this  painting,  see  sundry  documents  attached  to  the  Catalogue 
in  the  Appendix. 

Yasari,  in  his  life  of  Leonardo,  says  that  he  painted  a small  picture  for 
Messer  Baldasassare  Turini,  of  Pescia,  datary  to  Leo  X.,  “the  subject,  ‘ Our 
Lady  with  the  Child  in  her  lap/  It  was  executed  with  infinite  care  and  art, 
but  whether  from  the  carelessness  of  those  who  prepared  the  ground,  or  be- 
cause of  his  peculiar  and  fanciful  mixtures  of  colors,  varnishes,  etc.,  it  is  now 
damaged.”  This  “ Holy  Family  ” is  also  missing ; and  in  respect  to  the  com- 
position of  the  child  in  the  lap  and  the  peculiar  changes  in  the  coloring,  it 
agrees  with  the  one  in  our  possession,  though  there  is  no  further  evidence  of 
their  identity. 

The  plate  is  so  faulty  in  design,  giving  such  an  inadequate  idea  of  the  pic- 
ture, that  at  first  it  was  condemned;  but  as  it  represents  the  composition,  and 
the  original  is  now  on  view  in  America,  it  was  finally  admitted. 


390 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


he  eminent  in  investing  his  compositions  with  a wonderful 
unity  of  intellectual  and  technical  character,  but  he  could 
compose  new  forms,  as  it  were,  for  nature,  unlike  any  of 
her  known  creations,  and  yet  in  such  apparent  harmony 
with  her  ways  that  in  admiring  their  strength  and  beauty, 
and  interpreting  their  meaning,  we  lose  sight  of  their  im- 
possibility. Of  this  nature  is  his  sketch  of  his  wondrous 
‘•Dragons  at  play”  in  the  Uffizi,  unique  for  its  weird 
power. 

Leonardo  owes  nothing  to  classical  art.  Nor  is  there 
evidence  of  his  studying  that  of  his  own  epoch.  Indeed, 
we  have  just  seen  that  he  virtually  forbids  it  in  his  instruc- 
tions to  others.  At  his  first  boyish  effort,  as  was  recorded 
in  the  notice  of  Verrocchio,  he  surpassed  his  instructor,  at 
least  so  the  latter  despairingly  acknowledged.  While  all 
contemporary  artists  considered  his  paintings  as  a fountain- 
head of  knowledge,  he  remained  independent  of  them  all; 
finding  inspiration  within  himself  and  acknowledging  nature 
only  as  his  teacher.  Had  no  art  ever  existed,  he  would 
have  created  it  from  out  of  the  suggestions  of  the  world  of 
idea  within  and  of  fact  without  him.  And  in  rightly  esti- 
mating his  strength,  we  must  not  forget  that  he  preceded 
Raphael  and  Michel  Angelo  by  almost  one  generation. 
He  could  therefore  learn  hut  little  of  them,  while  they  had 
his  matured  genius  as  a stimulant  and  to  profit  by  in  their 
works.  The  friends  and  contemporaries  of  Leonardo  were 
Perugino,  Credi,  Botticelli,  and  Fra  Bartolomeo;  so  that 
if  any  comparison  with  contemporary  art  were  to  he  insti- 
tuted, it  must  be  with  them,  and  not  with  the  first-named 
artists. 

Vigorous  and  spontaneous  as  Leonardo’s  powers  emi- 
nently were,  he  trained  them  to  scrupulous  and  conscientious 
labor,  leaving  no  latitude  to  impulse  or  chance  effort. 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


891 


Those  who  would  fain  persuade  themselves  that  genius  is 
born  with  matured  wisdom  and  skill,  needing  but  to  open 
its  mouth  to  “ravishingly  ” sing  or  to  lift  its  hand  to  “divine- 
ly” execute,  should  particularly  note  his  example.  With 
unsurpassed  mental  and  physical  gifts,  he  steadily  and 
patiently  studied  and  toiled  to  attain  his  ideal  of  truth  and 
beauty.  The  law  of  perfection  is  indeed  founded  on  imper- 
ative labor;  but  with  him  more  freedom  would  have  been 
our  great  gain.  For  his  sensitiveness  to  improvement  was 
so  acute  that  he  protracted  his  work  almost  endlessly, 
always  finding  something  to  amend,  which  dilatoriness  and 
inability  to  satisfy  himself  frequently  operated  to  prevent 
him  altogether  from  its  completion,  particularly  if  new 
engagements  or  a change  of  residence  intervened.  Besides, 
he  frittered  away  time  and  power  over  material,  his  prepa- 
rations and  vehicles  both  for  his  “Last  Supper”  and  the 
great  fresco  designed  for  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  at  Florence 
being  experimentative,  to  the  lasting  detriment  of  the  one 
and  the  prevention  of  the  execution  of  the  other,  although 
the  cartoon  had  been  made  and  exhibited,  and  the  citizens 
desired  its  completion  “to  the  end  that  the  commonwealth 
might  have  the  glory  and  the  city  the  ornament  imparted 
by  the  genius,  grace,  and  judgment  of  Leonardo  to  all  that 
he  did.”  # He  intended  to  have  painted  this  last,  as  in  fact 
he  unfortunately  did  the  “Cenacolo,”  in  oil,  to  gain  greater 
power  over  color  and  details,  but  owing  either  to  badly 
prepared  grounds  or  some  inherent  defect  in  the  plaster 
itself,  his  painting  sunk  into  it  so  much  that  he  abandoned 
it  altogether.  Misfortunes  of  this  nature  were  constantly 
worrying  him,  but  his  masterpiece  at  Milan  might  have 
still  continued  to  give  to  the  world  some  faint  idea  of  its 
original  perfection,  had  not  humidity,  the  vandalism  of 
* Vasari,  vol.  ii.  p.  385. 


392 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


monks  and  military  authorities,  and  repainting,  all  com- 
bined to  hasten  its  destruction. 

Leonardo’s  taste  inclined  rather  more  to  sculpture  than 
to  painting.  In  the  latter  he  sought  with  great  success  to 
render  in  relief  the  force  of  the  former,  by  the  means  he 
records  in  his  Treatise,  and  which  we  have  quoted  in  part. 
These,  with  his  perfect  modelling  and  firm  design,  gave 
extraordinary  roundness  and  projection  to  those  of  his 
figures  he  considered  as  finished.  Lomazzo  limits  the 
number  of  heads  to  four,  though  this  seems  improbable. 
Without  doubt  his  critical  eyes  would  never  have  been 
entirely  satisfied  with  any  degree  of  progress,  for  they  could 
always  suggest  the  possibility  of  more.  He  instructed  his 
pupils  to  make  a cautious  use  of  lights,  using  white  as  if  it 
were  a paste  of  gems,  reserving  it  always  for  the  strongest 
effects  and  highest  reliefs.  Owing  to  the  peculiar  and 
novel  preparations  of  many  of  his  grounds  the  darks  of 
some  of  his  pictures  have  grown  too  obscure  and  even 
opaque,  to  the  loss  of  their  primitive  transparency  of  shadow. 
He  finished  backgrounds  and  the  least  important  portions 
of  a picture  first,  gradually  arriving  at  the  principal  feat- 
ures, with  a microscopic  fineness  of  touch,  bestowing  the 
nicest  attention  upon  each  accessory,  reproducing  not 
merely  the  minutest  character  of  anatomy  but  the  actual 
lucidity  and  moisture  of  flesh,  avoiding  at  the  same  time 
the  dryness  and  hardness  of  the  German  school.  His 
works,  in  consequence,  even  when  imperfect,  if  they  have 
escaped  retouching,  bear  the  closest  inspection ; and  in  seek- 
ing absolute  truth  of  detail  he  preserved  a broad,  masterly 
treatment  of  masses,  so  that  they  are  as  effective  at  a dis- 
tance as  pleasing  near  to,  either  point  of  view  being  equally 
sustained  by  his  harmonious  artistic  unity  of  the  minute 
and  great  in  nature.  He  had  another  and  more  quiet  man- 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


393 

ner,  exceedingly  delicate  and  suggestive  of  life  in  its  poetry 
of  youth  and  loveliness,  attained  by  a skilful  management 
of  middle  tints. 

Leonardo  evinces  a peculiar  predilection  for  one  type  of 
male  or  female  beauty,  much  alike  in  both,  whenever  he 
idealizes  bis  conceptions.  It  is  full  of  grace  and  refined, 
pure  sentiment,  verging  upon  weakness  and  languishment, 
and  destitute  of  real  spiritual  elevation.  His  Ledas,  Vir- 
gins, and  favorite  portraits  have  much  resemblance  in  this 
respect,  sweetly  akin  in  beauty  and  feeling,  without  any 
approach  to  the  sensual  or  scarcely  the  sensuous.  They 
entwine  themselves  in  our  sympathies  as  beings  to  be  cher- 
ished for  the  sake  of  their  entire  loveliness  of  person  and 
character,  as  we  love  the  grace  and  innocence  of  infancy. 
Look  at  his  nude  “Leda,”the  perfection  of  female  form,  far 
more  beautiful  than  the  over-praised  Venus  de’  Medici,  for 
the  head  harmonizes  with  the  body ; it  speaks  to  us  as 
an  image  of  the  first  woman,  fresh  from  God  s creative 
hand,  clad  in  the  modesty  of  unconscious  nakedness,  and 
imparting  to  the  spectator  none  other  sense  than  that  of 
adoring  wonder  at  so  beauteous  a vision.  His  ideal  females 
are  the  creations  of  a chaste  soul  united  to  a refined  taste; 
not  aspiring  to  the  spiritual,  nor  descending  to  the  level  of 
common  womanhood,  yet  true  and  substantial.  To  many 
they  are  unsatisfactory,  not  appealing  enough  to  the  usual 
associations  of  the  sex.  But  they  are  such  as  an  artist  re- 
fraining from  intimate  relations  with  women,  whether  of 
love  or  friendship,  might  poetically  conceive  as  his  ideal ; 
women  without  passion  or  sin;  richly  endowed  with  the 
purest  sensibilities,  equally  capable  of  heroic  suffering  or 
tender  sympathy;  women  in  whom  the  possibility  but  not 
the  probability  of  yielding  up  their  all  to  love  is  apparent. 

The  feminine  traits  which  so  pleased  him  are  reproduced 


394 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


without  much  change  in  a number  of  his  male  heads,  par- 
ticularly of  saints,  but  less  to  their  advantage.  Indeed  we 
are  inclined  to  think  that  his  ideal  lineaments  of  women 
were  borrowed  more  from  male  than  female  models,  con- 
ceiving perhaps  with  some  philosophers  that  the  perfect 
being  unites  within  itself  all  that  is  noble  and  lovely  in  the 
elements  of  either  sex.  Certain  it  is  that  he  was  greatly 
attached  to  Francesco  Melzi,  as  a child  famed  for  beauty, 
and  when  old  still  handsome  and  exceedingly  amiable.  So 
also,  for  like  cause,  he  conceived  a great  affection  for  his 
servant,  Andrea  Salai  or  Salaino,  raising  him  to  the  condi- 
tion of  pupil,  ever  showing  him  the  utmost  kindness,  and 
even  assisting  him  in  his  paintings.  Salaino  was  of  Leo- 
nardo’s favorite  type  of  beauty,  with  long,  wavy,  auburn 
hair,  descending  in  rich  curls  upon  his  shoulders.  The 
sexual  isolation  of  Leonardo,  and  his  intimate  association 
with  men  of  amiable  and  refined  character,  undoubtedly 
confirmed  his  chaste  disposition,  and  helped  keep  his  pen- 
cil entirely  free  from  that  sensual  art  to  which  Raphael 
sometimes  yielded,  though  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
external  pressure  and  temptation  from  a licentious  court 
and  society  was  as  great  upon  one  as  the  other.  The 
children  of  Leonardo  have  an  adult  force  of  expression; 
their  intense  character  and  vigorous  modelling  contrasting 
powerfully  with  the  pensive  sweetness  of  their  mothers. 

His  happiest  union  of  creative  thought  with  a scientific 
perception  of  nature,  illumined  by  a power  of  imagination 
that  exhausted  without  exaggerating  his  theme,  in  which  all 
the  elements  of  art  are  in  thorough  harmony,  lofty  signifi- 
cance, and  pleasing  naturalness,  is  the  “ Last  Supper,”  at 
Milan,  painted  on  the  wall  of  the  refectory  of  the  convent  of 
Sta.  Maria  delle  Grazie,  the  figures  being  larger  than  life,  but 
from  their  elevation  appearing  of  the  natural  size.  Beside 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


395 


design  and  composition  we  have  little  left  whereby  to  judge 
this  noble  performance.  The  subject  theologically  consid- 
ered in  relation  to  the  divine  mystery  of  an  atoning  sacri- 
fice, of  which  it  was  both  the  anticipatory  ceremony  and  a 
model  feast  as  an  example  to  Christians  in  all  time  to 
commemorate  the  44 It  is  finished”  of  their  Lord,  is  the 
most  solemn  and  pathetic  that  history  records.  From  the 
earliest  ages  a traditional  composition  had  been  bequeathed 
to  art  for  it.  Not  only  religious  veneration  prescribed  its 
general  arrangement,  but  local  circumstances  required  that 
it  should  conform  to  the  customary  position  of  the  monks 
at  their  long,  narrow  tables,  seated  as  they  usually  were 
with  their  backs  to  the  wall.  The  painting  being  composed 
in  the  same  fashion,  placed  opposite  and  above  them  as  they 
entered  their  dining-hall,  recalled  at  each  meal,  for  the  sal- 
vation of  those  who  confessed  that  44  Truly  this  was  the 
Son  of  God,”  their  Master’s  expiatory  death,  through  the 
sordid  treachery  of  a false  disciple.  Artists  of  every  age 
had  conformed  to  this  plan,  sometimes  placing  the  Saviour 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  with  the  beloved  disciple  lean- 
ing upon  his  bosom,  and  sometimes  in  the  centre,  his 
followers  seated  on  either  side.  Giotto  ventured  to  vary 
this  arrangement  in  his  miniature  44Cenacolo”  of  the  Acad- 
emy at  Florence  by  seating  Judas  conspicuously  in  front, 
and  a little  apart  from  the  others,  with  pertinent  action 
making  his  treachery  as  it  were  the  most  striking  trait  of 
his  composition.  Leonardo  adhered  strictly  to  the  estab- 
lished usage,  imparting  to  it  a feeling  and  power  such  as 
no  other  artist  has  ever  rivalled. 

The  44 large  upper  room,”  its  simple  decorations,  the 
distant  view  from  the  windows  over  the  hills  of  Judah,  and 
the  sparse  accessories  of  such  a banquet,  are  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  our  usual  interpretation  of  the  Gospel  narra- 


396 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


tives.  If  the  scene  were  treated  with  rigid  historical 
fidelity,  as  Horace  Yernet  has  attempted,  it  might  be  sunk 
into  a company  of  Bedouin-looking  individuals  seated  on 
the  floor,  dipping  their  hands,  after  the  etiquette  of  Ori- 
entals, into  a common  dish  and  eating  therefrom.  It  is 
probable  that  the  reply  of  Jesus,  instead  of  being  intended, 
as  is  generally  understood,  to  point  out  the  traitor,  was 
made  to  screen  him,  for  as  all  present  were  or  had  just  been 
dipping  their  hands  into  the  dish  with  him,  no  one  of  the 
apostles  but  Judas  himself  could  have  absolutely  known  to 
whom  it  applied.  Had  fiery  Peter  been  sure  of  the  man, 
certainly  he  would  not  have  allowed  him  to  go  out  quietly 
to  work  the  evil  that  he  did.  The  several  narratives  are 
more  or  less  confused.  Leonardo,  while  adhering  to  its 
traditional  aspect  and  common  interpretation,  ennobled  it, 
by  raising  it  above  the  commonplace  on  the  one  hand  and 
avoiding  on  the  other  the  bad  taste  and  incongruous  details 
of  others,  who  overload  the  scene  with  unmeaning  orna- 
mentation, arabesques  and  grotesques,  or  degrade  and 
change  its  sacred  character  by  the  introduction  of  vulgar 
incidents,  the  portraits  and  costumes  of  their  times,  and  in 
fact  turning  it  into  a spectacle  of  vagaries  and  unseemly 
innovations  which  no  degree  of  artistic  cleverness  can  justify. 

Here,  Jesus  and  the  twelve  are  alone.  Leonardo  does 
not  admit  even  a single  attendant.  They  are  seated  at  a 
plain  table,  on  which  is  spread  a light  repast.  A few  cups 
and  dishes,  on  a linen  cloth  slightly  ornamented  for  artistic 
value,  scattered  carelessly  about,  as  if  the  modest  feast  was 
well  nigh  done,  are  his  only  accessories.  His  draperies  are 
nobly  disposed,  and  in  accordance  with  the  supposed  cos- 
tumes of  the  age.  The  heads  are  ideal  embodiments  of  the 
several  characteristics  of  the  apostles.  Jesus  is  the  central 
figure.  His  prophetic  exclamation,  “One  of  you  shall 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


897 


betray  me,”  has  filled  the  company  with  impassioned  ex- 
citement. They  turn  to  each  other  and  the  Saviour, 
alternating-  between  horror,  doubt,  suspicion,  and  astonish- 
ment, eagerly  questioning  as  to  whom  it  applies.  Some 
are  stunned  by  the  enormity  of  the  charge;  others  are 
vociferous,  indulging  in  violent  gestures  and  powerful 
emotions : each  betrays  his  appropriate  temperament  in 
corresponding  speech  and  action,  with  a wonderfully  varied 
rendering  of  individual  character.  Yet  a masterly  unity 
of  feeling  pervades  the  whole.  The  interest  in  the  scene  is 
regularly  heightened  through  all  the  gradations  of  vehement 
passion  and  deep  sorrow  until  it  centres  upon  the  group  of 
the  Saviour,  meekly  obedient  to  foreordained  Destiny,  and 
the  tender  John,  overwhelmed  by  its  sudden  proximity,  his 
sympathetic,  loving  anguish  and  saintly  features  contrasting 
with  amazing  truth  of  sentiment  with  the  avaricious,  hypo- 
critical countenance  of  the  betrayer.  Judas  sits  next  to  John. 
A convulsive  start  has  caused  him  unconsciously  to  overturn 
the  ill-omened  salt.  His  mean  profile  and  sinister  gaze  are 
turned  inquiringly  upon  Ins  Master,  watching  for  further 
indications  of  discovery,  while  his  left  hand  involuntarily 
approaches  the  dish  near  to  the  right  hand  of  Jesus  that  is 
about  to  betray  him,  by  those  memorable  words,  in  answer 
to  the  earnest  inquiry  of  all  the  others,  “It  is  one  that  dip- 
peth  with  me  in  the  dish.” 

T1  le  lineaments  of  that  unparalleled  head  of  Christ  have 
become  as  familiar  to  the  world  as  if  he  still  walked  in  our 
midst.  Judged  by  the  strictest  rules  of  art-composition, 
the  entire  work  being  a rare  union  of  elevated  sentiment 
and  refined  execution,  the  natural,  historical,  and  religious 
harmoniously  balanced  alike  in  motive  and  dramatic  ex- 
pression, it  is  the  most  successful  effort  of  Christian  art ; 
perhaps  the  most  complete  effort  of  all  art.  Yet  in  assert- 


398 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


ing  this  we  must  keep  in  view  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel  and  Raphael’s  frescoes  in  the  Vatican,  which  are 
almost  as  perfect  of  their  kind.  Still  no  other  picture  so 
completely  forestalls  criticism  in  every  point.  Yet  Leo- 
nardo did  not  undertake  it  with  prayer  and  fasting.  He 
did,  however,  so  completely  give  himself  up  to  his  task 
that  he  often  remained  from  morning  to  night  without 
food,  forgetting  the  cravings  of  appetite.  It  does  not  glow 
with  the  supernal  element  of  the  pietists.  But  it  is  the  re- 
sult of  profound  thought  and  acute  observation  ; nature 
and  history,  prompted  by  imagination,  supplying  the  mod- 
els and  motives. 

Leonardo  defines  his  method  of  composition  in  his  an- 
swer to  the  Duke  when  accused  by  the  Prior  of  dilatori- 
ness and  of  passing  half  a day  at  a time  absorbed  in  reflec- 
tion before  his  work.  “ Men  of  genius,”  he  observes, 
“ are  sometimes  producing  most  when  they  seem  to  be 
laboring  least,  their  minds  being  occupied  in  the  elucida- 
tion of  their  ideas  and  in  the  completion  of  those  concep- 
tions to  which  they  afterwards  give  form  and  expression 
with  the  hand ; ” adding,  that  “ he  was  still  in  want  of  two 
heads,  one  of  which,  the  Saviour’s,  he  could  not  hope  to 
find  on  earth,  and  he  had  not  yet  attained  the  power  of 
presenting  it  to  himself  in  imagination  with  all  that  perfec- 
tion of  beauty  and  celestial  grace  which  appeared  to  him  to 
be  demanded  for  the  representation  of  the  Divinity  incar- 
nate. The  second  head  still  wanting  was  that  of  Judas, 
since  he  did  not  think  it  possible  to  imagine  features  that 
could  graphically  render  the  countenance  of  a man  who, 
after  so  many  benefits  received  from  his  Master,  betrayed 
his  Lord  and  the  Creator  of  the  world.  With  regard  to 
the  latter  he  would  make  search,  and  if  he  could  not  do 
better,  after  all  there  would  remain  to  him  the  face  of  the 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


399 


impertinent  and  annoying  Prior.”  This  humorous  revenge 
freed  him  henceforth  from  the  inane  criticisms  of  his  em- 
ployer, much  to  the  mirth  of  Ludovico.  Leonardo  never 
permitted  any  unworthy  or  extraneous  motive  to  influence 
his  conceptions,  and  he  did  not  in  this  instance,  as  did 
Michel  Angelo  because  of  a remark  reflecting  upon  his 
ideas  of  decorum,  immortalize  his  captious  critic  with  pic- 
torial infamy. 

Leonardo  was  master  of  the  entire  scope  of  human  ex- 
pression, from  its  meanest  to  its  loftiest  features.  By  his 
skill  in  design  he  played  upon  character,  elucidating  its 
every  aspect,  as  a musician  calls  forth  emotions  by  his 
power  over  sound.  Virtue  or  vice ; the  ridiculous  or  ex- 
traordinary ; the  homely  or  the  beautiful ; rage,  malice,  or 
affright;  chastity,  peace,  or  joy  ; — in  fine,  the  soul  of  man, 
was  shaped  by  him  at  will  in  vigorous  or  graceful  form 
and  action,  in  perfect  correspondence  with  the  idea,  with  a 
scientific  truthfulness  never  surpassed.  For  evidence  of 
much  of  his  ability  recourse  must  be  had  to  his  drawings. 
His  strength  was  peculiarly  intellectual  and  under  rigid 
control.  Idiosyncrasies  of  no  kind,  as  with  Michel  Angelo 
and  Raphael,  appear  in  his  art.  He  abstracts  self-hood 
completely  from  it,  infusing  instead,  in  its  intensest  mood, 
the  spirit  that  should  animate  it  as  an  independent,  extra- 
neous creation.  Hence  it  is  no  revelation  of  the  man  Le- 
onardo, but  an  abstract  scientific  projection  of  his  artistic 
power.  An  idea  given,  and  he  at  once  incarnates  it  with 
such  a degree  of  fidelity  to  its  own  laws  of  being  that  in  the 
contemplation  of  its  naturalness  we  forget  the  artist.  Wit- 
ness his  “ Struggle  for  the  Standard,”  a marred  fragment 
of  that  wonderful  cartoon,  heedlessly  destroyed,  of  the  vic- 
tory of  the  Florentines  over  Niccolo  Picinino,  General  of 
Filippo  Maria  Visconti,  Duke  of  Milan,  at  Anghiari,  in 


400 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


1440,  executed  in  competition  with  Michel  Angelo,  — who 
chose  for  his  subject  a scene  in  the  Pisan  campaign,  — to 
adorn  the  Council  Hall  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio.  The  lat- 
ter took  the  commencement  of  the  battle;  the  former,  the 
turning-point  of  victory.  Both  cartoons  became  schools  of 
art,  and  greatly  influenced  its  rapid  naturalistic  and  histori- 
cal development.  Leonardo’s  horses  and  men  are  the  very 
incarnations  of  the  fury  and  fierceness  — the  animals  rival- 
ling the  rage  of  their  riders  — of  deadly  strife  for  the  most 
precious  of  military  trophies.  The  intensity  of  the  strug- 
gle is  appalling.  So  is  his  “ Medusa  ” a unique  effect  of 
the  startling  and  horrible. 

Of  imitative  work,  the  portrait  of  Mona  Lisa  is  remark- 
able for  its  broad,  masterly  treatment  of  general  features, 
combining  nobility  of  form  and  sweetness  of  expression 
with  the  most  delicate  finish  of  details  and  exquisite  mod- 
elling. His  minute  accuracy  of  surface  has  nothing  in 
common  with  the  repulsive,  epidermical  naturalism  of  the 
Dernier  school  of  portraiture ; for  his  knowledge  of  form 
and  color  was  tempered  by  his  superior  discernment  of 
character.  His  flesh  is  virginly  warm  and  tender,  his 
anatomy  and  modelling  the  reproduction  of  nature  itself ; 
the  heating  of  the  arteries  and  movement  of  the  chest  are 
indicated ; the  lucidity  of  the  eye,  the  flexible,  soft  quality 
of  hair  and  its  adhesion  to  the  skin,  the  bony  and  mus- 
cular structure,  — in  fine,  every  element  of  nature’s  handi- 
craft, to  the  strictest  truth  of  likeness  itself,  without  any 
approach  to  idealization,  yet  all  harmonized  into  a head  of 
exceeding  interest,  if  not  of  beauty,  was  united  in  this  por- 
trait. Desiring  to  excite  in  his  sitter  the  most  pleasurable 
emotions,  he  amused  her  with  the  society  of  persons  of  wit 
and  taste,  and  even  brought  in  the  aid  of  music  to  keep 
alive  her  smiles.  It  became  in  truth  a labor  of  love,  as  if 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


401 


he  wished  to  test  the  entire  imitative  capacity  of  painting; 
for  he  fondly  lingered  over  it  four  years,  though  in  his  own 
estimation  he  never  finished  it.  Finally  he  took  it  with 
him  to  France,  and  sold  it  to  Francis  I.  for  a sum  nearly 
equivalent  to  nine  thousand  dollars  # of  our  money,  show- 
ing the  value  placed  upon  the  painting  by  that  kingly  ama- 
teur. It  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  Louvre,  but  time  has 
left  to  it  only  the  shadow  of  its  former  perfection.*!* 

His  own  portrait  in  the  Uffizi,  with  comparatively  slight 
technical  treatment,  has  a wonderful  strength.  Seldom  it 
is  that  the  light  favors  it,  and  pictures  out  of  their  proper 
point  of  view  are  in  general  worse  than  valueless,  for  they 
traduce  the  reputations  of  their  authors.  Yet  this  is  the 
way  in  which  they  are  usually  exhibited,  special  pains  seem- 
ingly being  taken  to  exaggerate  the  unavoidable  deficiencies 
of  material  and  to  thwart  the  artist  in  that  precise  point  on 
which  his  legibility  most  depends.  Repeated  varnishes 
have  also  done  much  to  disfigure  this  noble  portrait.  But 
in  a favorable  light  it  exhibits  as  positive  a magic  control 
over  form  and  character,  and  the  qualities  of  flesh,  hair, 
and  bone,  as  Titian  exercises  over  color.  Of  still  more 
value,  there  stands  before  us  the  vital  effigy  of  this  peerless 
man,  the  Father  of  artists,  whether  we  regard  his  acquire- 

* Royal  amateurs  in  classical  times  exceeded  even  modern  extravagance  in 
prices  for  coveted  objects  of  art.  Apelles  received  a sum  equivalent  to  two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  his  portrait  of  Alexander.  Attalus  III., 
King  of  Pergamus,  paid  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  a picture 
by  Aristides.  Augustus  accepted  the  “ Venus  Anadyomene  ” of  Apelles  in 
lieu  of  a tribute  due  of  nearly  five  hundred  thousand  dollars,  or  one  hundred 
talents. 

t Leonardo  painted  the  wife  of  his  friend  Giocondo  not  only  under  several 
ideal  forms  but  in  one  instance  nude,  to  display  her  exquisite  shape.  The 
painting  has  disappeared,  but  its  character  is  preserved  in  an  engraving  of  the 
upper  part  of  the  figure,  to  be  seen  in  the  Gray  Collection  at  the  Library  of 
Harvard  University,  Cambridge.  The  face,  however,  is  not  a pleasing  one ; 
the  better  qualities  of  female  character  being  overpowered  by  fleshly  charms 
and  an  almost  unpleasing  rotundity  of  features  and  limbs. 

26 


402 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


ments  or  his  appearance ; an  embodiment  of  mental  power 
in  a singularly  beautiful  form,  to  which  those  piercing  eyes, 
aquiline  nose,  finely  cut  features,  and  wilderness  of  rich, 
long  hair  and  venerable  beard,  give  a patriarchal  force  and 
the  intellectual  glow  of  a higher  sphere.  And  in  esti- 
mating him,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  painter  was 
but  a fragment  of  the  man. 

Among  other  portraits,  he  is  said  to  have  done  in  crayon 
Amerigo  Vespucci,  and  one  Scaramuccia,  the  leader  of  a 
band  of  gypsies ; a wild  character  of  special  interest  to 
him.  In  the  difficulties  of  art  he  took  a rare  delight. 
We  read  of  his  painting  for  Francis  I.  a laughing  Pomo- 
na, covered  with  three  veils ; “ as  one  can  readily  see,” 
“ cosa  difficilissimo  nelV  arte.” 

Leonardo’s  authentic  works  are  exceedingly  rare  and 
correspondingly  prized.  Yet  as  he  was  no  idler,  he  must 
have  produced  many  paintings  or  studies  during  the  ten  or 
twelve  years  he  was  at  Florence.  We  have  scarcely  any  de- 
tails of  this  period  of  his  life.  Beside  the  cartoon  already 
mentioned,  his  chief  attempts  in  painting  were  the  unfin- 
ished “Adoration  of  the  Magi”  of  the  Uffizi,  and  the  two 
Holy  Families  he  refers  to  in  his  letters  as  still  unfinished, 
of  which,  possibly,  that  referred  to  in  the  Appendix  is  one. 
In  1482  he  was  invited  to  Milan  by  Ludovico  Sforza, 
chiefly  to  make  an  equestrian  statue  to  the  memory  of 
Francesco,  the  Duke’s  father ; a gigantic  monument,  upon 
the  execution  of  which  Leonardo  counted  to  carry  out 
his  ideas  as  a sculptor  and  to  immortalize  his  name.  He 
seems  to  have  considered  himself  greater  in  sculpture  than 
painting;  an  opinion  shared  by  those  who  were  able  to  see 
what  he  could  do  in  both. 

Although  not  improvident  or  heedless  of  the  value  of 
money,  Leonardo  had  neither  the  faculty  of  money-making 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


403 


nor  of  money-keeping.  During  one  winter  he  was  reduced 
to  such  straits,  by  the  neglect  or  inability  of  his  ducal  patron 
to  provide  for  his  wants,  that  he  seriously  entertained  the 
idea  of  abandoning  art  altogether.  Had  he  lived  in  our 
age  he  might  have  done  this,  and  by  the  power  of  his  me- 
chanical genius  alone  secured  to  himself  a prodigious  for- 
tune and  conferred  untold  benefits  upon  our  material  civili- 
zation. Either  in  art  or  science,  what  he  needed  was  a 
judicious  patron  or  a stringent  necessity,  to  properly  work 
out  the  full  extent  of  his  intellectual  resources.  His  will 
exhibits  a scanty  accumulation  of  worldly  goods.  It  is  a 
singular  document,  and  would  seem  to  imply  that,  not  hav- 
ing given  religion  any  special  thought  during  his  prime, 
towards  the  close  of  his  life  he  was  solicitous  to  expiate 
this  remissness  and  to  recommend  himself  jointly  to  the 
spiritual  powers  above  and  the  ecclesiastical  below,  with  a 
sort  of  apology  for  neglecting  both  so  long.  Evidently 
his  mind  had  been  preoccupied  with  other  speculations,  and 
he  had  had  no  more  leisure  for  theological  subtleties  and 
church  ceremonials  than  he  had  had  for  money-getting. 
Was  he  a worse  or  less  useful  man  for  either  “thing  left 
undone  % ” 

However  that  may  be,  during  the  long  illness  which 
preceded  his  death,  — May  2d,  1519,  at  Cloux  in  France, 
whither  he  had  been  invited  by  Francis  I.,  — he  devoutly 
conformed  to  all  the  requisitions  of  the  Roman  Church  and 
received  its  sacraments.  His  will,  dated  18th  April,  1518, 
recommends  “his  soul  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  the  glorious  Vir- 
gin Mary,  to  Monsignore  my  lord,  the  Archangel  Michael, 
and  all  the  blessed  Angels,  Saints,  and  Saintesses  of  Para- 
dise,” ordering  for  its  repose  three  grand  masses,  Uun 
diacono  e sotto  diacono ,”  in  the  church  of  St.  Dionisio, 
Amboise,  which  are  to  be  repeated  in  other  churches  with 


404 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


thirty  low  masses,  etc.  Sixty  paupers,  to  be  liberally  paid,  are 
to  carry  as  many  torches  at  his  obsequies.  They  are  after- 
wards to  be  given  to  the  above  churches,  besides  ten  pounds 
of  wax  candles  to  be  used  in  the  masses,  and  he  enjoins 
gratuities  to  the  poor  patients  of  a hospital  at  Amboise. 
Thus,  whatever  were  his  opinions,  or  want  of  them,  on 
religion,  he  took  a decorous  and  orthodox  leave  of  its 
established  ministers  on  earth,  and  piously  conformed 
to  all  the  formulae  prescribed  to  propitiate  St.  Peter  in 
heaven. 

Indeed,  he  appears  to  have  had  at  no  time  any  more 
decided  religious  than  political  opinions.  Vasari,  who  felt 
constrained  in  his  second  edition  to  omit  or  modify  a num- 
ber of  assertions  in  his  first,  probably  on  account  of  living 
relatives  of  the  artists,  says  of  Leonardo,  that  he  did  not 
believe  in  any  kind  of  religion,  esteeming  philosophy  far 
above  Christianity.  But  Vasari,  though  right  in  his  ex- 
ternal judgment,  according  to  the  evidence  and  requirements 
of  the  times,  had  not  the  capacity  himself  to  understand  or 
appreciate  such  a mind  as  Leonardo’s.  His  was  a philo- 
sophically tranquil  mind,  resting  upon  those  profound  intui- 
tive beliefs  which  are  born  to  all  superior  intelligences, 
recognizing  the  divine  elements  of  creation,  while  in- 
different or  careless  of  theological  dogmas  and  ritual 
details.  Leonardo  was  undoubtedly  Epicurean  in  its  best 
meaning.  He  attached  himself  with  equal  facility  to  Lu- 
dovico or  Francis  I.,  his  enemy,  — serving  with  the  same 
pleasure  the  court  of  Rome,  the  princes  of  Europe,  or  the 
republic  of  Florence.  What  he  desired  was  scope  and 
means  to  work  out  his  best,  be  it  in  science  or  art. 

The  life  of  Leonardo,  viewed  only  in  the  light  of  genius 
and  its  results  as  contrasted  with  the  average  power  and 
accomplishment  of  mankind,  is  an  extraordinary  success; 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


405 


but  compared  with  its  absolute  capacity  and  brilliant  prom- 
ise, a failure.  True,  he  was  the  founder  and  director  of 
the  Academy  of  Art  of  Milan,  and  left  a profound 
impression  both  in  art  and  science.  This  was,  however, 
rather  as  an  abstract  power  and  a phenomenon  of  attain- 
ments than  by  many  positive  monuments  of  his  genius 
and  written  evidences  of  his  intellectual  power.  His 
self-confidence,  solidly  based  upon  science,  prompted  him 
to  suggest  the  grandest  undertakings.  Among  these  was 
the  project  of  bodily  raising  from  its  foundations  the  mas- 
sive Baptistery  of  Florence  and  of  elevating  it  upon  steps, 
to  give  it  a more  imposing  appearance.  Although  his 
models  and  drawings  convinced  the  citizens  of  its  feasibility, 
they  had  not  the  courage  to  sustain  him,  because  out  of  his 
presence  the  thing  seemed  impossible.  When  a mere  youth 
he  proposed  to  make  Florence  a seaport,  connecting  it  by 
a canal  with  the  sea.  He  constantly  sought  employments  of 
equal  magnitude  and  utility,  but  the  spirit  and  circumstances 
of  the  age  were  unfavorable  to  the  full  development  of  his 
scientific  powers.  However,  the  hydraulic  works  which  he 
executed  for  Lombardy,  his  system  of  engineering,researches 
in  physics,  and  philosophical  investigations  at  large,  in  the 
one  case  so  humbly  and  silently  performing  their  useful 
offices  for  generation  upon  generation  of  men,  not  even 
attracting  the  attention  of  the  passer-by,  though  without 
them  he  would  find  the  fertile  plains  they  water  and  preserve 
from  inundation  but  precarious  travelling,  and  in  the  other, 
buried  in  chaotic  manuscripts,  or  scattered  widely  over  an 
arid  sea  of  speculation, — each  and  all  still  extort  the  won- 
der of  scholars,  and  incite  foreign  governments  to  send 
missions  to  examine  and  profit  by  them.  But  much  of 
his  invaluable  mind  was  wasted  in  comparatively  profitless 
work:  the  inspection  of  fortresses  and  military  engineering 


406 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


for  Duke  Borgia,  unimportant  plans,  mechanical  inventions 
and  models,  and  in  ingenious  trifles  for  the  amusement  of 
princes,  like  that  automaton  lion  for  the  King  of  France, 
which  walked,  and,  opening  its  breast,  disclosed  bouquets  of 
lilies ; animals  of  wax,  that  on  being  inflated  with  air  would 
fly  ; then,  to  surprise  the  Pontiff’  Leo  X.,  and  for  a folly 
of  his  own,  he  prepared  the  intestines  of  sheep  thin  as  pos- 
sible, and  so  light  and  compact  that  he  could  enclose  them 
in  his  hand.  Connecting  them  with  a bellows  in  an  adjoin- 
ing room,  when  visitors  entered  he  caused  them  to  be  filled 
with  wind,  enlarging  them  so  much  as  to  drive  his  company 
into  the  corners  of  the  apartment.  This  spectacle,  he  said, 
was  emblematic  of  genius,  because,  while  it  could  be  con- 
tained in  a small  compass,  it  was  capable  of  filling  all 
space. 

In  art,  also,  the  lesser  truths  often  diverted  him  from  the 
nobler.  Sometimes,  however,  the  grandeur  of  his  concep- 
tions defeated  their  execution  from  the  inadequacy  of 
material  to  realize  the  idea,  or  from  the  excessive  expense 
attending  them.  In  this  latter  respect  failure  ensued  only 
from  causes  independent  of  himself,  unless  it  may  be  con- 
sidered that  his  hindrance  sprung  from  the  very  vastness  of 
his  projects.  The  model  of  the  colossal  equestrian  statue 
of  Francesco  Sforza,  “most  beautiful  and  majestic,”  for  the 
casting  alone,  could  it  have  been  done  in  one  piece,  would 
have  required  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  of  bronze. 
Experiments  in  varnishes  and  methods  for  refining  the  oils 
used  in  painting  consumed  much  of  his  time,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  he  injured  his  pictures  by  their  premature  use. 
Creative  art  could  not  fail  to  languish  while  the  technical 
absorbed  so  much  of  his  attention.  In  view  of  his  capacity 
for  noble  composition,  one  is  forced  to  sympathize  with 
Leo  X.,  who,  having  ordered  a painting  from  him,  upon 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


407 


perceiving  that  he  began  at  once  “distilling  oils  and  herbs 
for  the  varnish,”  tartly  said  “ Alas ! this  man  will  assuredly 
do  nothing  at  all,  since  he  is  thinking  of  the  end  before 
he  has  made  a beginning.” 

So  little  remains  of  his  greatest  works  in  statuary  and 
painting  that  it  would  seem  as  if  Time  and  Fortune  were 
equally  jealous  of  his  fame.  Each  has  done  its  worst  to 
secrete  or  destroy  that  which  most  worthily  represented  it. 
The  “Cenacolo”  quickly  became  a ruin.  His  cartoons  of 
“Adam  and  Eve,”  “Neptune”  and  the  “Battle  of  Anghiari,” 
have  disappeared.  The  famous  hellish  shield  of  his  youth  is 
lost.  So,  too,  have  his  best  models  of  statuary  disappeared 
down  the  Curtian  gulf  of  Time.  He  was  never  permitted 
to  demonstrate  his  power  as  an  architect.  One  of  his  chief 
works  left  to  us  is  the  “Adoration  of  the  Magi,”  in  the 
Uffizi,  a varied  and  powerful  composition,  particularly 
valuable  as  showing  his  process,  but  a mere  chiaroscuro 
sketch  with  a few  hints  for  color.  This,  a few  easel  pic- 
tures, most  of  which  have  suffered  from  restorations  or  are 
unfinished,  and  his  not  numerous  drawings,  are  indeed  but 
inadequate  representations  of  Leonardo,  the  complete  artist. 
Moreover,  he  has  the  further  disadvantage  of  having  many 
of  the  works  of  his  scholars,  or  of  less  skilful  hands,  repeti- 
tions or  imitations,  pass  as  his  genuine  productions.  To 
crown  his  misfortunes,  he  was  unlucky  in  his  patrons. 
The  disasters  of  the  reigns  of  Francis  I.  and  Ludovico 
thwarted  their  projects  for  art  and  dissipated  their  resources. 
A Borgia  was  not  a congenial  friend  or  appreciative  pa- 
tron. Leo  X.,  becoming  prejudiced,  neglected  him.  The 
citizens  and  magistrates  of  Florence  alone  seemed  inclined 
to  estimate  his  genius  at  its  right  worth,  but  he  left  them 
to  serve  royalty  in  foreign  lands,  finally  ending  his  career 
as  “painter”  to  his  Most  Christian  Majesty,  in  receipt  of 


408 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


the  pittance  of  seven  hundred  dollars  a year,  and  even  then 
neglecting  art  for  the  prosaic  labors  of  an  engineer. 

Sad,  very  sad,  is  this  close  of  so  much  aesthetic  and 
scientific  promise.  Yet  circumstances  are  not  all  in  fault. 
Somewhat  must  be  attributed  to  that  want  of  a lofty,  con- 
centrated resolution  to  work  out  great  ends  in  life  which 
we  have  before  alluded  to.  Instead  of  making  events,  he 
lay  by  rudderless,  waiting  for  events  to  make  him,  never 
idle,  but  never  laying  fortune  under  contribution  to  a dom- 
inant will,  preferring  to  coquette  with  her  and  with  time, 
or  quietly  submit  to  the  freaks  of  both.  Two  elements  of 
greatness,  amid  his  intellectual  riches,  were  wanting  to 
perfect  his  manhood:  passionate  energy  and  lofty  moral 
guidance.  The  one  would  have  forced  him  to  largely  exe- 
cute, and  the  other  quickened  his  soul  with  elevated  aims. 
But  notwithstanding  these  deficiencies  of  character,  his 
trials,  temptations,  and  mischances,  Leonardo  was  ever  the 
same  generous,  urbane  man,  untainted  by  vice,  courteous 
and  considerate  to  all.  To  Salai  he  left  a portion  of  his 
modest  possessions.  The  only  quarrel  recorded  of  him  is 
by  Vasari,  the  professed  eulogist  of  Michel  Angelo,  who 
says  “there  was  constant  discord  between  the  two,  and  the 
competition  caused  Michel  Angelo  to  leave  Florence.”  As 
he  brings  no  charge  of  unfair  conduct  against  Leonardo, 
which,  were  it  possible,  he  would  have  done  to  defend  his 
special  friend  and  favorite,  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  pub- 
lic sentiment  was  more  partial  to  the  genius  and  deportment 
of  Leonardo,  or  that  Michel  Angelo’s  behavior  put  himself 
so  clearly  in  the  wrong  that  he  thought  it  better  to  go  away 
entirely  rather  than  longer  support  a competition  daily 
becoming  more  to  his  disadvantage.  This  is  the  more 
probable  as  it  was  the  period  of  his  impetuous,  cynical 
youth,  when  his  sharp-set  speeches  provoked  much  enmity 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


409 


and  enraged  those  who  might  consider  themselves  his 
rivals.  Pilkington,  without  giving  his  authority,  states 
that  Leonardo,  “having  accepted  the  charge”  of  painting 
the  great  Council  Hall  of  Florence,  “desired  to  call  in 
the  assistance  of  Michel  Angelo,  a distinction  which  that 
great  artist  very  ill  requited  by  his  conduct  to  the  Nestor 
of  the  art.  Michel  Angelo,  though  then  but  a young  man, 
had  acquired  a reputation,  and  was  not  afraid  to  cope 
with  Leonardo ; hut  jealousy  arose  between  them,  and  each 
having  his  partisans,  open  war  was  the  consequence.”* 
The  advantage  in  temper  and  public  opinion  was  undoubt- 
edly with  Leonardo,  who  must  have  justly  considered  that 
from  his  age,  — he  was  then  about  fifty,  — reputation,  and 
kindness  he  was  entitled  to  greater  consideration  from  the 
younger  artist  than  he  received.  And  unlike  him,  he  had 
never  to  reproach  himself  with  unamiable  speeches  towards 
other  artists.  At  all  events,  not  one  is  recorded  against 
him. 

Giotto  and  Leonardo  in  many  respects  have  much  in 
common.  Both  were  rare  examples  of  the  prodigality  of 
nature’s  best  gifts,  personal  beauty  excepted  in  the  former. 
They  were  complete,  universal  men,  with  a range  of  intel- 
lectual power  capable  of  eminence  in  any  direction.  Leo- 
nardo’s more  varied  acquirements  were  in  unison  with  the 
advanced  knowledge  of  his  age.  Giotto’s  influence  on  art 
was  more  profound,  inasmuch  as  he  concentrated  his  gen- 
ius solely  upon  it.  Each  sought  its  development  through 
similar  processes  of  imagination,  reflection,  and  study  of 
nature.  Each  was  independent  of  the  influence  of  other 
artists.  Each  largely  inspired  in  thought  and  manner  the 
greatest  of  the  masters  of  their  times  : Gaddi,  Orgagna, 
Giottino,  and  Spinello  incited  by  the  one ; Correggio, 

* Dictionary  of  Painters,  p.  581. 


410 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


Giorgione,  and  Raphael,  representatives  themselves  of  di- 
verse and  powerful  schools,  gaining  strength  and  knowl- 
edge from  the  profound  science  of  the  other  ; and  each 
attained  to  the  loftiest  excellence  and  widest  fame.  But 
here  the  parallel  ceases.  Giotto  died  in  his  sixty-first  year, 
without  a cloud  to  shadow  his  uniform  prosperity,  and  Leo- 
nardo in  his  sixty-seventh,  a saddened,  frustrated  man. 
Giotto  was  sustained  and  appreciated  by  the  spirit  of  his 
age  ; earnest,  religious,  thorough  ; inciting  to  action,  and 
gifted  with  elevated  inspiration.  It  was  the  inauguration  of 
a great  intellectual  movement,  especially  in  art,  and  his  was 
the  mind  that  gave  it  impetus  and  direction.  Hence  prog- 
ress and  prosperity  were  affiliated  with  him.  Leonardo, 
on  the  contrary,  arrived  at  its  climax,  when  its  great  tide 
had  begun  to  make  backwater  and  to  be  agitated  by  con- 
trary impulses,  forcing  it  into  a transition  state.  Indeed, 
the  decadence,  which  Michel  Angelo  lived  to  see  complete, 
had  already  begun  to  darken  its  waters,  though  as  yet  more 
in  the  motives  that  inspired  art  than  in  its  execution. 
Vices  were  uppermost  in  people  and  politics.  Faith  was 
dying  out.  Luther  near  at  hand.  Savonarola  was  essay- 
ing in  vain  to  stem  popular  corruption  and  infidelity,  and  in- 
directly to  reinfuse  spirituality  into  art.  But  its  heart  was 
now  turning  to  manual  dexterities,  sensual  infoldings,  skill 
in  color,  design,  and  sensuous  beauty,  devoid  of  lofty  mean- 
ing and  noble  aim.  Princes  were  superseding  the  people 
as  patrons  of  art.  Merchants  in  the  progress  of  luxury 
and  tyranny  were  ripening  into  nobles.  Freedom’s  last 
struggle,  that  is  such  freedom  as  had  created  and  nurtured 
the  glorious  art  about  to  die  out,  was  soon  to  culminate  in 
the  fatal  siege  of  Florence.  Leonardo,  yielding  to  the  drift 
of  events,  forsook  democracy  for  aristocracy.  Of  the  two 
extremes,  demagogue  or  courtier,  a choice  being  neces- 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI. 


411 


sary,  the  latter  he  must  be.  Giotto’s  audience  demanded 
his  best  because  it  understood  and  felt  it.  Their  sympa- 
thies in  noble  art  were  in  common.  Not  so  with  Leo- 
nardo. His  audience  were  either  incapable  of  extracting' 
his  best  or  were  indifferent  to  it.  Diverted  in  great  meas- 
ure from  his  highest  aspirations,  he  was  misled  into  fields 
of  inferior  action  and  motive.  Under  happier  auspices  he 
might  have  done  as  much  for  himself  and  his  age  as  did 
Giotto  for  himself  and  his,  closing  his  eyes  upon  life  a suc- 
cessful as  well  as  great  man. 

Whenever  his  mind  was  left  wholly  at  liberty  its  choice 
was  towards  the  true  and  noble.  But  unfortunately  for 
him  and  us  its  action  in  this  direction  became  limited  and 
exceptional.  May  not  the  respective  friends  of  the  two  ar- 
tists have  some  responsibility  in  this  \ Giotto  was  inspired 
by  Dante  and  Petrarch ; Leonardo  was  directed  by  Ludo- 
vico il  Moro,  Caesar  Borgia,  and  Leo  X.  — a difference 
as  of  darkness  from  light. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Michel  Angelo  Buonarotti,  1474-1563.  Disfigurement  of  his  Features.  At- 
tachment to  Vittoria  Colonna.  His  Passions  and  Affections.  Quality 
of  his  Character  and  Genius.  Independence  and  Temper.  Julius  II. 
and  Clerical  Critics.  His  Revenge.  Satire.  Magnanimity  in  regard  to 
Art.  Reproves  a mean  Patron.  His  youthful  Discipline.  His  Father 
•wishes  to  exorcise  the  Artist  out  of  him  by  virtue  of  Birch.  Fails.  Ghir- 
landajo’s  Opinion.  Lorenzo  de’  Medici  adopts  him  and  pensions  his  Father. 
Firmness  in  overcoming  personal  Weaknesses.  His  Wife  and  Children. 
Sculpture  his  Preference.  Analysis  of  his  Artistic  Character  and  chief 
Works.  His  Successes  and  Failures.  “ The  Last  Judgment.”  Tombs  of 
the  Medici.  His  Meaning.  Theirs.  His  chief  Glory.  Temptations  of 
Money  and  Fame.  Resistance.  Strong  of  Will  and  Work  to  the  last. 
His  Death.  Religious  Feeling.  Influence  upon  Art.  Daniele  da  Volterra 
and  Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  his  chief  Scholars. 


Michel  Angelo  Buonarotti  was  born  at  the  castle 
of  Caprese,  near  Arezzo,  March  6th,  1474.  Inferior  to 
Leonardo  in  personal  beauty,  courtly  accomplishments,  and 
breadth  of  genius,  he  excelled  him  in  profundity  of  imagi- 
nation and  force  of  character.  His  figure  was  spare  and 
bony,  but  compact  and  active,  while  his  countenance,  over- 
shadowed by  a massive  brain,  at  no  time  attractive,  became 
much  less  so  after  the  bones  of  his  nose  were  crushed  by  a 
blow  from  the  sculptor  Torrigiano,  in  a youthful  fracas ; an 
injury  which  permanently  disfigured  him.  “A  sarcasm  of 
his  having  stung  me  to  the  quick  ” is  the  palliation  his  assail- 
ant many  years  afterwards  made  to  Benvenuto  Cellini,  an 
equally  rash  and  hot-headed  artist,  for  his  misdeed.  Strong 
will  and  prodigious  intellectual  power,  blended  in  amiable 
repose  when  not  over-excited  by  mental  or  moral  disdain, 
marked  his  features.  His  aesthetic  faculties  — he  was  also 


MICKEL  ANGELO. 


413 


poet  and  musician  — were  undisturbed  by  any  bias  towards 
physics,  though  he  was  partial  to  metaphysics.  Like  Leo- 
nardo the  intellectual  was  his  predominating  temperament. 
He  never  married,  nor  formed  — so  far  as  can  be  known  — 
a sexual  relation  with  any  woman.  Still  he  was  capable 
of  deep  and  pure  friendship  with  the  sex,  though  this  trait 
was  not  developed  until  his  sixty-third  year,  when  he 
formed  that  sincere  attachment  for  the  illustrious  Vittoria 
Colon na  which  proved  the  happiest  feature  of  both  their 
lives.  It  was  of  an  ideal,  sacred  nature,  tending  to 
strengthen  his  religious  instincts  and  foster  his  taste  for 
theological  speculations.  The  tender  and  dignified  charac- 
ter of  their  relation  is  feelingly  suggested  by  himself,  when 
he  was  summoned  to  her  death-bed  to  bid  her  farewell  for 
Time.  Deeply  moved,  he  reverentially  kissed  her  hand, 
afterwards  observing  that  he  only  regretted  he  had  not 
ventured  to  salute  her  on  her  face  or  forehead. 

Although  love  is  the  chief  topic  of  his  sonnets,  yet  he 
treats  it  as  an  abstraction  or  a spiritual  emotion,  which  of 
itself  is  so  satisfactory  to  his  nature  that  he  never  appears 
to  desire  its  personality.  The  following  extract  from  one, 
given  by  D upper,  illustrates  his  pure  and  cold  conception 
of  the  passion. 

“ Better  plea 

Love  cannot  have,  than  in  loving  thee 
Glory  to  the  eternal  peace  is  paid, 

Who  such  divinity  to  thee  imparts 
As  hallows  and  makes  pure  all  gentle  hearts. 

His  hope  is  treacherous  only  whose  love  dies 
With  beauty,  which  is  varying  every  hour : 

But  in  chaste  hearts,  uninfluenced  by  the  power 
Of  outward  change  there  blooms  a deathless  flower 
That  breathes  on  earth  the  air  of  Paradise.” 

Condivi,  who  knew  him  intimately,  writes  4i  I have  often 
heard  Michel  Angelo  reason  and  discourse  on  love,  but  I 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


ili 

never  heard  him  speak  on  other  than  Platonic  love.  In  a 
long  intimacy  I have  never  heard  from  his  mouth  a single 
word  that  was  not.  perfectly  decorous,  and  had  not  for 
its  object  to  extinguish  in  youth  every  improper  and  law- 
less desire.  His  own  nature  is  a stranger  to  depravity.”  # 
In  his  eighty-second  year  he  nursed  his  faithful  servant 
Urbino,  who  had  been  with  him  twenty-six  years,  but  was 
then  dying,  with  the  devotion  of  a brother,  watching  over 
him  day  and  night,  never  taking  off  his  clothes  to  repose, 
and  finally  closing  his  eyes  with  his  own  hands.  This 
pious  duty  done,  he  writes  to  Vasari,  “My  loss  is  most 
severe  and  my  grief  profound.  I ever  found  him  incom- 
parable and  faithful,  the  prop  and  repose  of  my  old  age, 
and  he  has  passed  away,  leaving  me  no  other  hope  but  that 
of  rejoining  him  in  Paradise.  The  greater  part  of  me  is 
departed  with  him,  nor  does  aught  remain  behind  hut  a 
deep  sense  of  bereavement.” 

Michel  Angelo  at  heart  was  of  an  affectionate  disposi- 
tion, and  strongly  attached  to  the  few  he  esteemed,  but 
reckless  of  offence  to  those  he  despised  or  dissented  from. 
While  his  moral  courage  is  unquestionable,  his  physical 
sensibilities  gave  him  at  times  the  air  of  timidity.  Ordi- 
narily he  was  patient  and  forbearing.  But  nothing  excited 
him  quicker  than  injustice,  especially  if  put  upon  another; 
on  such  occasions  his  indignation  became  the  more  forcible 
because  of  his  keen  moral  susceptibility  acting  upon  a deli- 
cate, nervous  organization.  He  slept  little,  ate  sparingly 
and  irregularly,  suffering  constantly  from  headache  and  in- 
digestion. To  these  causes  may  be  attributed  much  of  that 
moodiness  and  moroseness  in  him,  for  which  individuals  of 
saner  constitutions  made  but  scanty  allowance.  He  coveted 
solitude  because  of  his  devotion  to  his  studies.  The  public 
accused  him  of  pride  and  oddity.  Undoubtedly,  congenial 
* Cited  by  Dupper,  p.  129. 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


41  5 


society  was  rare,  and  the  few  friends  he  recognized  were 
either  among  the  most  eminent  of  the  time  for  intellectual 
attainments,  or,  like  his  humble  servitor  Urbino,  endeared 
to  him  for  their  virtues.  His  governing  principle  was  to 
employ  life  in  acquiring  knowledge  and  in  honorable  and 
virtuous  labor  for  the  public  weal. 

He  made  no  parade  of  his  genius  or  works.  In  a letter 
to  a nobleman  who  had  ordered  a crucifix  he  says,  66 1 did 
my  best  in  silence,  in  order  to  accomplish  what  was  not 
expected  from  me.”  Like  all  of  the  old  masters  of  deep 
religious  feeling  he  was  scrupulously  conscientious  in  the 
smallest  technical  details,  sparing  himself  no  labor  to  secure 
perfectly  honest  work.  In  painting  he  prepared  his  own 
grounds  and  even  mixed  his  own  colors,  not  willing  to 
trust  such  matters  to  any  assistant.  The  tools  he  used  in 
sculpture  were  also  made  by  his  own  hands.  Art,  with 
men  of  his  deep  sense  of  truth  and  right,  had  its  code  of 
minor  morals,  as  well  as  life,  and  it  required  of  him  to 
overlook  nothing  that  might  contribute  to  its  perfection. 
The  serious  aspect  existence  had  in  his  eyes  is  expressed 
in  a letter  to  Vasari  of  April,  1554,  — “ Man  should  not 
be  gay  when  all  the  world  is  sad.  It  is  ill-timed  to 
make  feasts  and  rejoicings  for  one  just  born,  which  ought 
the  rather  to  be  deferred  to  commemorate  the  virtues  of  a 
well-spent  life.”  Such  sombre  philosophy  was  as  little  cal- 
culated to  make  him  popular  as  his  metaphysical  view  of 
love  and  tender  conscience  towards  his  profession,  which 
few  at  any  period  are  over-disposed  to  appreciate.  In  all 
matters,  however,  he  first  sought  to  satisfy  his  own  stand- 
ard of  excellence,  whether  in  morals  or  art.  One  of  his 
sonnets  declares, 

“ 111  hath  he  chosen  his  part  who  seeks  to  please 
The  worthless  world.” 


416 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


As  he  truly  states,  he  neither  feared  its  envy  nor  desired  its 
praise.  But  personal  independence,  hard  names,  and  unpal- 
atable truths  rankle  in  people’s  temper.  This  he  found  out 
from  contemporaries,  while  posterity,  by  their  frequent  mis- 
conceptions of  his  character  and  depreciatory  criticism  on 
his  art,  have  often  been  very  unjust  to  him.  Indeed  he  is  not 
readily  understood,  on  account  of  his  isolated  strength  and 
habits  as  a man.  He  lived  chiefly  within  himself  and  for 
his  own  self-development.  A strong  worker  and  deep 
thinker,  shunning  observation,  declining  gifts  as  conferring 
obligations  from  which  he  desired  to  be  always  exempt, 
holding  venality  in  abhorrence,  and  not  concealing  his  an- 
noyance and  disgust  at  the  polite  simulations  of  fashionable 
society,  veracious  and  disinterested  to  a degree  that  was  a 
continual  reproach  to  those  around  him,  preferring  the 
high  calling  of  his  profession  to  its  gains,  entertaining  posi- 
tive opinions  and  prejudices,  not  above  jealousy  of  those 
with  whom  he  condescended  to  contend,  more  of  a meta- 
physician than  a poet  even  in  his  songs : such  a man  and 
artist  was  uncomfortable  on  most  points  to  the  world  as  it 
goes.  Yet  in  poetry  he  could  be  graceful,  elegant,  and 
almost  amatory;  in  painting  also.  But  the  one  was  as 
rare  as  the  other.  So  systematic  was  he  with  his  resources 
that  he  always  had  means  at  command,  which  he  gener- 
ously used  for  the  benefit  of  others.  To  humble  artists  he 
often  gave  instruction  and  friendly  aid ; to  the  poor  lie  was 
uniformly  charitable,  providing  needy  maidens  with  dow- 
ries, and  liberal  and  considerate  to  his  immediate  depend- 
ants and  relatives.  In  every  respect  the  sterling  ore  of 
lofty  principle  was  to  be  found  underlying  all  that  was 
harsh,  hasty,  or  uncongenial  in  his  manners.  For  himself 
be  chose  a modest  mode  of  life,  sufficient  only  for  respecta- 
bility, while  he  gave  to  his  nephew  Leonardo  several 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


417 


thousand  crowns  at  a time,  and  to  Urbino,  two  thousand 
as  a fund  for  his  maintenance.  A large  share  of  his  valu- 
able time  during  eighteen  years  was  devoted  to  the  super- 
intendence of  the  building  of  St.  Peter’s,  without  other 
remuneration  than  vexatious  and  trammelling  intrigues  to 
hinder  his  progress  and  prejudice  him  with  the  papal  court. 
He  even  sent  back  money  the  Pope  wished  him  to  accept 
for  his  services,  and  on  other  occasions  evinced  similar  no- 
ble disinterestedness  for  the  promotion  of  art  and  religion. 
At  the  siege  of  Florence  his  patriotism  was  sorely  tried, 
but  nobly  stood  the  test.  He  was  born  a citizen  — not  a 
subject.  His  political  sympathies  were  with  the  democratic 
puritans  of  Savonarola.  Lofty  and  clear-minded  in  his 
views  of  public  and  private  life,  he  was  never  in  harmony 
with  his  age.  The  Medici  would  have  destroyed  him  as 
they  finally  destroyed  the  liberties  of  Florence,  had  they  not 
feared  to  beggar  art  by  the  loss  of  his  genius ; not  for  its 
own  sake,  but  that  he  might  complete  the  monuments  of 
their  mean-born  pride.  Although  Michel  Angelo  was  con- 
stantly employed  by  popes  and  princes,  he  asserted  his  own 
dignity  as  an  intellectual  potentate  and  his  moral  rights  as 
a man,  without  compromising  his  liberty  of  choice  as  an 
artist.  Sovereign  tyrants  were  compelled  to  respect  the  in- 
dividual in  him  through  the  force  of  a will  greater  than 
their  own,  backed  by  an  independence  and  disinterested- 
ness that  alike  defied  opposition  and  extorted  respect.  The 
Florentine  gonfaloniere,  Soderini,  in  writing  to  Rome  in 
his  favor  in  the  outset  of  his  career,  recommended  him  as 
“ a fine  young  man,  unequalled  in  his  art  throughout  Italy, 
or  perhaps  the  world.  He  will  do  anything  for  good  words 
and  caresses ; indeed  he  must  be  treated  with  affection  and 
favor,  in  which  case  he  will  perform  things  to  astonish  all 


418 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


beholders.”  # But  his  main  strength  lay  in  those  talents 
that  once  cut  off  God  alone  could  replace.  His  patrons  as- 
signed him  topics  and  labors,  but  his  works  were  moulded 
with  his  image  and  superscription,  not  theirs  ; and  when 
incomplete  the  failure  was  of  them,  not  him. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  Michel  Angelo’s 
temper  was  hot  and  hasty  when  touched  in  his  honor  or 
art,  or  overmuch  worried  by  the  caprices  of  despotism  and 
follies  of  fooldom.  His  own  hasty  spirit  he  never  fully 
learned  to  rule.  Sometimes  unjust,  he  did  and  said  things 
neither  polite  nor  politic  to  those  who  merited  his  good- 
will and  respect,  and  this  doubtless  rather  from  a lack  of 
the  quality  of  appreciation  of  excellence  that  was  foreign  to 
his  own  manner  than  from  absolute  envy  or  ill-nature. 
On  one  occasion  he  called  the  amiable  Francesco  Francia  a 
dunce  to  his  face  in  the  presence  of  a large  company,  at 
the  same  time  telling  his  son,  a handsome  youth,  that  the 
living  figures  made  by  his  father  were  handsomer  than 
those  he  paints.  When  he  tired  of  his  festive  friend, 
L’ Indaco,  whose  nonsense  as  well  as  the  humorous  stories 
of  others  often  amused  him  until  the  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks  from  excessive  laughter,  he  bluntly  shut  his  door  in 
his  face.  For  a bore  he  had  no  charity  or  civility.  Yet 
he  was  placable  and  amenable  to  reason,  and  was  wont 
himself  to  ascribe  whatever  was  acrid  in  his  disposition  to 
the  keen  air  of  his  native  hills,  as  he  did  his  love  of  chisel 
and  mallet  to  the  milk  of  his  foster-mother,  the  wife  of  a 
stone-mason.  Cardinal  Marsila,  afterwards  Pope,  once 
reproached  him  for  the  inadequate  light  of  St.  Peter’s. 
Michel  Angelo  explained  to  him  his  plan  for  remedying 
the  defect.  “ You  never  told  that  before,”  testily  replied 
* Gaye,  Carteggio,  vol.  ii.  p.  83,  ann.  1506. 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


419 


his  censor.  To  which  the  artist  haughtily  retorted  “ I am 
not,  neither  will  I be  obliged  to  tell  your  Eminence,  or 
any  one  else,  what  I ought  or  am  disposed  to  do ; it  is 
your  office  to  see  that  money  is  provided,  to  take  care 
of  the  thieves,  and  to  leave  the  building  of  St.  Peter’s 
to  me.” 

The  fiery  Julius  II.  brooked  from  him  a slight  that  he 
would  have  forgiven  in  no  one  else.  When  Michel  Angelo 
met  him  at  Bologna,  after  his  abrupt  flight  from  Rome 
and  hasty  renunciation  of  his  service  on  account  of  a tran- 
sitory neglect,  having  sent  word  to  him  that  he  would  not 
again  part  with  his  liberty  to  any  one,  tbe  pope,  whose 
rage  had  terrified  Florence  because  it  had  given  the  run- 
away refuge,  in  his  presence  simply  vented  his  bile  by  say- 
ing “ So  you  are  there!  You  ought  to  have  come  and 
sought  us  out,  instead  of  waiting  for  us  to  come  and  seek 
you  out.”  A monsignore  in  attendance,  desirous  of  pro- 
pitiating him  towards  the  offender,  urged  that  as  ignorance 
had  caused  his  offence,  such  men  knowing  nothing  beyond 
their  art,  his  holiness  should  pardon  him.  His  holiness,  exas- 
perated at  the  silly  intervention,  turned  upon  him,  exclaim- 
ing “ You  are  insulting  him,  which  I have  not  done ; you 
are  the  ignoramus,  not  he.  Quit  my  presence  at  once.” 
Ever  afterwards  Julius  treated  the  artist  with  a considera- 
tion seldom  vouchsafed  to  others,  though  the  petulant  im- 
patience the  pope  often  displayed  during  the  progress  of 
the  paintings  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  drew  upon  him  at  times 
retorts  likely  to  chafe.  That  the  artist  fairly  tamed  the 
pontiff'  is  to  be  inferred  from  Julius’  own  language  to  Se- 
bastiano  del  Piombo,  upon  proposing  to  him  to  paint  an 
apartment  in  the  Vatican,  which  he  eagerly  consented  to 
do,  premising  that  with  the  aid  of  Buonarotti  he  would 
perform  marvels.  “ I don’t  doubt  it,”  responded  the  pope, 


420 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


for  you  have  all  profited  by  him.  But  he  is  terrible,  as 
you  know,  and  nobody  can  get  on  with  him.”  * 

But  when  in  the  mood,  he  could  parry  unsuitable  wishes 
— from  such  a source  equivalent  to  commands  — with  a 
witty  dexterity  that  was  unanswerable.  Julius  desired  to 
have  the  draperies  and  various  portions  of  the  figures  on 
the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  touched  with  gold  and 
ultramarine,  and  more  highly  finished.  This  not  being  ap- 
proved by  the  artist,  he  demurred.  44  I must  have  it 
touched  in  parts  with  gold,”  the  pope  repeated.  44  Holy 
father,”  rejoined  Michel  Angelo,  44  the  sainted  characters 
depicted  above  did  not  wear  gold.”  44  The  work  will  look 
mean,”  urged  his  holiness.  44  The  saints  were  poor  men 
who  despised  riches,”  finally  replied  his  opponent,  and  Ju- 
lius good-humoredly  gave  up  the  point. 

When  reproached  by  Paul  IV.  with  the  nudity  of  his 
figures  in  his  44  Last  Judgment,”  which  was  indeed  a fla- 
grant departure  from  the  conventional  types  of  Christian  art, 
he  observed  44  if  his  holiness  would  only  reform  the  opin- 
ions of  mankind  the  picture  would  be  reformed  of  itself.” 
But  as  his  holiness  was  impotent  for  this,  he  employed 
Daniele  da  Volterra  to  drape  the  most  exceptionable  por- 
tions, for  which  service  the  wags  of  Rome  rewarded  him 
with  the  nickname  of  44  Breeches-maker.”  Who  has  not 
read  of  the  half-humorous,  half-malicious  revenge  of  the 
artist  upon  that  grave  but  graceless  ecclesiastic,  Biagio  di 
Cesena,  master  of  ceremonies  to  Paul  III.,  for  presuming 
in  his  presence  to  tell  the  pope  that  the  figures  in  this  com- 
position were  more  suitable  for  a brothel  than  a papal  chapel ! 
No  sooner  was  his  back  turned  than  Michel  Angelo  seized 
his  pencil,  and  with  a few  masterly  touches  transformed 
his  diabolical  Minos  into  an  unmistakable  likeness  of  the 


* Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  489. 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


421 


critic.  Being1  recognized  as  soon  as  seen,  tlie  laughter  it 
provoked  drove  the  Grand  Master  beside  himself  with  rage 
and  indignation.  He  went  to  the  pope  to  demand  redress. 
“Where  has  he  placed  you,”  the  latter  inquired.  “Put 
me  ! why,  in  hell!”  exclaimed  Biagio,  profoundly  distressed. 
“Alas,  then  !”  said  Paul,  “he  has  put  you  out  of  my  reach; 
had  it  been  only  in  purgatory,  I might  have  delivered  you, 
but  in  hell  there  is  no  redemption  \ in  Inferno  nulla  est  re- 
demption 

The  satire  of  Michel  Angelo  was  promptly  keen  or 
terrible,  as  the  occasion  demanded.  When  Soderini,  the 
gonfaloniere  of  Florence,  on  seeing  for  the  first  time  his 
youthful  production  of  the  well-known  statue  of  David, 
remarked  that  he  thought  the  nose  too  short,  the  artist, 
seizing  a handful  of  marble  dust,  climbed  up  to  it,  and 
with  his  chisel  and  mallet  pretended  to  alter  it,  dropping  at 
each  stroke  some  dust  from  his  hand.  Descending,  he 
asked  his  critic  how  he  liked  it  now.  “ Better,”  was  the 
sage  reply;  “you  have  given  it  new  life.”  His  wit  did  not 
spare  churchmen.  Some  one  having  told  him  that  Sebas- 
tiano  del  Piombo  was  painting  the  figure  of  a monk  in  a 
certain  chapel,  he  said  it  would  ruin  it.  Being  asked  why, 
he  added,  “The  monks  have  corrupted  the  entire  world; 
a single  one,  therefore,  is  quite  enough  to  spoil  a small 
chapel.” 

Whatever  conclusion  criticism  may  arrive  at  in  regard 
to  the  “new  manner,”  as  it  was  called,  that  Michel  Angelo 
introduced  into  religious  art,  no  one  of  his  age  had  a clearer 
insight  than  himself  into  the  capacities  of  art  for  spiritual 
significance  or  loftier  ideas  of  its  power  and  dignity.  The 
vigorous  protests  which  fell  from  his  tongue  and  pencil, 
often  exaggerated  by  force  of  virtuous  indignation  or  the 
power  of  a genius  not  always  under  perfect  control,  against 


422 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


the  vices  and  imbecilities  that  hedged  him  about,  called 
forth  on  many  occasions  retorts  in  kind.  Hence,  in  1549, 
we  find  an  anonymous  writer,  quoted  by  Gaye,  in  speaking 
of  a Pietd  designed  by  Michel  Angelo,  in  a fanatical  pro- 
test against  his  style,  calling  him  “ that  inventor  of  filthy 
trash,  who  adheres  to  art  without  devotion.  Indeed,  all 
the  modern  painters  and  sculptors,  following  the  like  Lu- 
theran caprices  nowadays,  neither  paint  nor  model  for 
consecrated  churches  anything  but  figures  that  distract 
one’s  faith  and  devotion ; but  I hope  that  God  will  one  day 
send  his  saints  to  cast  down  such  idolatries.” 

Our  artist  sought  to  avoid  that  ignorance  and  mysticism 
in  art  whose  tendency  is  to  superstition  and  idolatry,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  reconcile  its  functions  of  religious  teach- 
ing and  worship  with  that  aesthetic  freedom  which  admits 
strength  and  beauty  in  a naturalistic  sense ; believing  no 
doubt  with  Savonarola,  with  whose  character  and  aims  he 
deeply  sympathized,  that  material  truths  wedded  to  spiritual 
sentiments  were  the  noblest  aims  of  the  artist.  The  degree 
of  his  success  is  a question  which  we  shall  come  to  a little 
later.  At  present,  it  is  sufficient  to  lay  down  his  moral  and 
artistic  character  as  the  foundation  of  his  art.  And  yield- 
ing to  his  personal  ambition,  which  was  large,  all  that  can 
he  claimed  for  it  as  an  incentive  to  his  labors,  there  was 
beside  in  him  a large  admixture  of  noble  disinterestedness. 
He  was  perhaps  the  last  of  those  great  masters  who  made 
piety  paramount  to  interest  in  their  works,  instigated,  to 
use  the  touching  words  of  Gentile  Bellini,  in  1496,  when 
he  refused  all  remuneration  for  his  noble  pictures  done  for 
a benevolent  confraternity  at  Venice,  “by  affection  for  the 

Cl 

/ross. 

Lucrative  commissions  had  no  effect  in  stimulating  his 
exertions.  Next  to  piety  and  love  of  art,  friendship  or 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


423 


honor  were  his  most  cogent  incentives.  He  often  declined 
advantageous  offers  from  motives  which  then  were  little 
current.  Not  that  he  esteemed  his  work  lightly,  for  he 
refused  to  deliver  his  uLeda”  to  the  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
because  his  agent  had  reported  slightingly  of  it,  and  instead 
gave  it  away  to  a friend.  Agnolo  Doni,  a Florentine  ama- 
teur, stingy  withal  but  appreciating  good  pictures,  ordered 
from  him  the  celebrated  “ Holy  Family  ” now  in  the  Tribune 
of  the  Uffizi,  at  the  agreed  price  of  seventy  ducats.  Desir- 
ous of  obtaining  an  abatement  when  it  was  done,  he  haggled 
for  forty.  Michel  Angelo  sent  at  once  for  his  picture  or 
one  hundred  ducats.  Doni  then  sent  the  seventy  first  un- 
derstood. The  artist  refused  to  receive  this  sum,  and  per- 
emptorily required  him  to  return  the  painting  or  double  the 
original  price,  which  Doni,  afraid  to  lose  it,  did  at  once. 

A grand  man,  moulded  not  out  of  common  stuff*,  was 
this  same  Michel  Angelo.  He  looms  up  like  a giant ; in 
character  as  well  as  art;  almost  mythic  amid  the  human- 
ities of  any  period,  and  doubly  so  by  contrast  with  the  weak- 
ness of  the  latter  days  of  his  own  times.  The  backbone  of 
the  age  was  softening,  becoming  putty,  in  vicious  hands  too. 
Thus  a man  of  uncompromising  integrity  and  self-respect, 
of  adamantine  purpose,  setting  aside  genius,  now  seems  the 
more  heroic  from  his  isolation.  Vasari  was  right  in  wor- 
shipping him.  From  boyhood  to  old  age,  Michel  Angelo 
uniformly  sustained  his  own  dignity  and  that  of  art ; the 
latter  during  his  earliest  years  after  a fashion  somewhat 
trying  both  to  spirit  and  flesh. 

His  father  was  a descendant  of  the  ancient  Counts  of 
Canossa,  and  prided  himself  greatly  on  his  aristocratic 
origin.  His  means,  however,  were  but  scanty,  so  that  he 
permitted  some  of  his  sons  to  be  trained  for  commerce, 
but  Michel  being  superior  to  his  brothers,  he  sent  him  to  a 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


grammar  school  at  Florence,  preparatory  to  his  entering 
upon  one  of  the  learned  professions.  Here,  instead  of  at- 
tending to  his  regular  studies,  he  spent  his  time  in  drawing, 
manifesting  decidedly  the  will  and  ability  to  become  an 
artist.  This  irritated  his  parent,  whose  prejudices  of  birth 
were  shocked  at  what  he  considered  the  low  tastes  of  his  son. 
Trying  every  means  in  vain  to  dissuade  him  from  his  pencil, 
he  finallyprohibited  its  use.  But  finding  his  orders  of  no  effect 
he  next  soundly  flogged  him.  There  was  no  wavering  now. 
The  resolution  of  the  lad  was  clinched  in  him  by  these 
injudicious  blows,  and  his  father,  having  exhausted  the 
“ ultima  ratio ” of  parents  as  well  as  kings,  had  to  yield. 
He  assented  to  his  apprenticeship  for  three  years  to  Domen- 
ico Ghirlandajo,  to  whose  studio  he  had  been  attracted  by 
his  fondness  for  one  of  his  pupils,  Francesco  Granacci,  who 
had  the  while  lent  him  drawings,  made  him  acquainted 
with  works  of  art,  and  in  every  way  fostered  the  bent  of  his 
disposition.  Here  his  progress  was  so  rapid  as  before  long 
to  excite  the  jealousy  of  Domenico,  who  afterwards,  when- 
ever any  juvenile  work  of  his  scholar  was  praised,  hinted 
that  his  own  hand  was  in  it,  by  observing  that  it  came  from 
his  studio.  Condivi  charges  Ghirlandajo  with  refusing  to 
loan  him  his  sketch  books.  At  all  events,  his  pupil  speedily 
drew  from  him  the  high  encomium,  “ He  has  no  further 
need  of  me.” 

On  one  occasion,  seeing  a fellow-scholar  copying  a female 
portrait  from  a drawing  by  Ghirlandajo,  he  took  a pen  and 
drew  around  the  original  another  contour  so  superior  to  it 
as  to  excite  the  admiration  of  every  one  at  his  presumptuous 
talents.  It  must  have  been  cleverly  done,  for  when  Vasari 
in  1550,  who  then  had  it  in  his  possession,  showed  it  to 
Michel  Angelo,  he  recalled  the  circumstance  with  satisfac- 
tion, remarking,  as  he  complacently  examined  it,  “I  knew 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


425 


more  of  this  part  of  my  art  when  I was  a young  man  than 
I do  now  in  my  old  age.” 

When  Lorenzo  de’  Medici  established  his  school  for 
sculpture  in  his  garden  in  Florence,  he  requested  Ghir- 
landajo  to  permit  such  of  his  scholars  as  desired  to  draw 
from  the  antique  to  go  there.  Among  those  who  availed 
themselves  of  this  privilege  were  Granacci  and  Buonarotti. 
The  latter  became  deeply  interested  in  modelling.  By 
chance  seeing  the  mutilated  head  of  a laughing  faun,  he 
thought  he  would  copy  it  in  marble,  and  in  a few  days 
succeeded  so  well,  varying  the  design  according  to  his  own 
fancy,  as  to  attract  the  praise  of  Lorenzo,  who  jestingly 
qualified  it  by  observing  44  You  have  given  to  the  old  faun 
all  his  teeth;  at  his  age  some  are  usually  wanting.”  No 
sooner  had  he  left  than  the  impatient  boy — he  was  only 
fifteen — broke  a tooth  from  the  upper  jaw,  and  drilled  a 
hole  in  the  gum  to  represent  the  cavity  whence  it  had  been 
dislodged. 

Lorenzo  was  so  amused  with  his  aptness  and  pleased 
with  his  talents  that  he  sent  word  to  his  father  that  he 
wished  to  converse  with  him.  The  old  man,  suspecting 
his  object,  was  loath  to  go,  blaming  Granacci  for  having 
misled  his  son  into  a career  so  unworthy  of  his  family,  and 
protesting  that  he  would  never  give  his  consent  for  Michel’s 
becoming  a stone-mason.  Granacci  in  vain  tried  to  ex- 
plain to  him  the  difference  between  a sculptor  and  a me- 
chanic. Nevertheless,  not  daring  to  decline  the  invitation 
of  the  magnificent  Lorenzo,  he  went,  and  was  received  with 
great  courtesy,  and  a proposal  to  adopt  his  son  into  the 
family.  Impressed  with  a due  sense  of  the  honorable  po- 
sition conferred  upon  Michel,  he  assented.  His  son  was 
immediately  provided  with  a room,  a seat  at  the  princely 
table,  treated  as  one  of  the  circle,  and  presented  to  all  the 


426 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


distinguished  people  that  frequented  the  palace.  Subse- 
quently, the  father  perceiving  that  he  was  in  high  esteem 
with  the  great,  and  that  Lorenzo  to  gratify  him  had  given 
him  a “ violet-colored  mantle,”  began  to  “ clothe  him  in  a 
more  stately  manner  than  before.”  Much  of  his  leisure 
time  was  spent  with  Lorenzo  himself  in  examining  the 
gems  and  medals  of  his  invaluable  collection,  while  his 
graver  studies  were  prosecuted  with  characteristic  ardor. 
He  spent  months  in  making  drawings  from  the  frescoes  of 
Masaccio,  which  were  still  the  chief  school  of  design.  It 
was  in  the  Carmine  church  that  he  had  his  quarrel  with 
Torrigiano. 

Lorenzo  extended  his  kindness  to  his  father,  on  whom 
he  conferred  a pension  and  an  office  in  the  customs ; a 
golden  consummation  little  anticipated  by  the  exasperated 
parent  when  he  tried  through  the  medium  of  birch  to  ex- 
orcise the  artist  out  of  his  boy. 

The  same  firmness  which  Michel  Angelo  exercised  in 
resisting  and  overcoming  any  external  impediments  to  his 
artistic  career  he  unflinchingly  used  towards  himself, 
when  necessary  to  overcome  any  morbid  sensibility  of 
his  own  temperament.  A sickening  disgust  which  he 
experienced  in  his  first  essays  at  dissection  compelled  him 
for  a while  to  give  up  the  idea  of  learning  anatomy  from 
human  bodies.  But  ashamed  at  being  mastered  by  a phys- 
ical weakness,  he  persevered  until  his  rebellious  stomach 
was  reduced  to  entire  subjection.  To  the  very  last  he  was 
a student, — replying  to  Cardinal  Farnese,  who  found  him, 
then  an  octogenarian,  alone,  gazing  upon  the  Coliseum,  “ I 
yet  go  to  school  that  I may  learn  something.”  In  the 
ardor  of  young  blood  he  chose  art  for  his  bride,  and 
was  constant  to  her  through  every  phase  of  life.  One  day 
a priest  asked  him  “ why  he  had  not  married  and  got  chil- 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


427 


dren  to  whom  he  could  have  left  his  fine  productions  ] ” 
His  answer  was,  “ 1 have  a wife  who  is  too  much  for  me 
already ; one  who  unceasingly  persecutes  me.  It  is  my 
art,  and  my  works  are  my  children.”  He  found  it  impos- 
sible to  fully  satisfy  the  only  tribunal  of  criticism  to  which 
he  really  deferred,  his  own  mind.  Often  from  sheer  ina- 
bility to  express  in  material  the  feeling  and  form  that  had 
definite  being  in  his  imagination,  he  threw  aside  his  work 
when  but  just  begun.  Even  in  this  condition  it  suggests 
a latent  power  more  impressive  than  the  finished  art  of  not 
a few  distinguished  men. 

His  predilection  was  towards  sculpture.  In  the  matu- 
rity of  his  fame  Condivi  heard  him  say,  “ I repent  not  hav- 
ing entirely  devoted  myself  to  it.”  The  exigences  of  pa- 
trons forced  him  into  architecture  * and  painting,  and  those 
of  war  and  patriotism  into  military  engineering ; but  the 
last  was  but  a temporary  employment.  And  what  would 
not  the  world  have  lost  had  his  infuriated  father’s  blows 
fallen  upon  a boy  — he  was  but  thirteen  when  he  received 
that  memorable  chastisement  — of  greater  susceptibility  to 
pain  and  shame  than  of  will  for  art ! One  trembles  for  the 
odds  and  haps  of  life,  and  philosophy  may  well  shake  in  its 
shoes  at  the  consideration  that  in  any  capricious  or  preju- 
diced moment  a lick  or  two  of  a paternal  rod  may  nip  in  the 
bud  a future  St.  Peter’s,  “ Last  Judgment,”  and  priceless 

* Upon  accepting  the  post  of  architect  of  St.  Peter’s  he  wrote  “ I call  God 
to  witness  that  it  is  against  my  wish  and  by  force  only  that  I accept  this  office.” 
When  Julius  II.  desired  him  to  paint  the  Sistine  Chapel,  he  earnestly  en- 
treated to  be  excused,  referring  to  Raphael  as  the  most  qualified  for  such  an 
undertaking.  He  seems  to  have  had  to  a certain  extent  both  a distaste  and 
doubt  as  to  his  success  compared  with  Raphael  in  this  department,  and  on 
account  of  his  want  of  experience  in  fresco  work  he  first  called  in  assistants, 
hut  as  they  did  not  suit  him  he  ultimately  took  upon  himself  the  entire 
manual  as  well  as  artistic  work,  allowing  no  witnesses,  with  a success  that 
fully  justifies  his  final  self-reliance. 


428 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


art  or  science  of  all  kinds.  Thanks,  O Michel,  for  your 
boyish  disobedience ! Generations  yet  unborn  will  add  to 
this,  Amen  ! despite  the  Sinai  commandment  of  Promise, 
which  seems  to  have  been  set  aside  for  this  rebellious  son, 
as  his  days  were  very  u long  in  the  land.” 

More  happy  than  Leonardo  in  being  wholly  and  entirely 
an  “ artist,”  his  great  powers  were  always  available  to  the 
ends  of  art,  while  his  life  — let  us  forget  occasional  jets  of 
temper  or  jealousy  — was  a noble  exemplification  of  its 
loftiest  spirit.  More  happy  also  than  his  rival,  he  left  am- 
ple material  in  each  of  Art’s  three  great  departments  to  per- 
petuate his  fame  and  to  afford  a basis  for  critical  inquiry. 
Easel  pictures  by  him  are  almost  unknown.  That  of  the 
Tribune,  and  a few  others  that  pass  as  his,  embody  his  pecu- 
liarities of  coloring  and  design,  but  with  less  to  recommend 
them  in  point  of  sentiment  than  anything  else  from  his  hand. 
The  Doni  “ Holy  Family  ” is  particularly  objectionable  as  a 
sacred  composition.  The  Virgin,  in  an  ungraceful  position 
is  making  great  muscular  effort  to  hold  the  child  on  her 
shoulders,  while  the  background  is  filled  with  groups  of 
naked  athletes.  His  landscape  is  a barren  line  of  horizon. 
Indeed,  for  the  lesser  forms  of  nature  he  has  no  predilec- 
tion whatever.  He  seems  to  ignore  the  landscape  entirely. 
Neither  was  portraiture  more  to  his  taste,  because  he  hated 
to  take  anything  from  life  unless  it  offered  the  perfection 
of  beauty.  One  portrait  only  is  recorded  of  him,  a cartoon 
of  life-size  of  a Roman,  Messer  Tomasso  de’  Cavalieri. 
Yet  beauty  was  certainly  not  one  of  his  successes.  Never- 
theless his  types  of  character  are  wholly  ideal ; creations  of 
his  own  fecund  imagination,  put  into  those  grand  forms 
which  were  his  special  aim.  As  Titian  touched  canvas 
with  a broad,  earnest,  eloquent  sweep  of  the  brush,  doing 
at  once  exactly  what  he  wished  to  do,  neither  more  nor  less, 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


m 


though  a hair’s  breadth  either  way,  or  greater  or  less  thick- 
ness of  color  than  he  dashed  on,  would  have  marred  his 
meaning,  so  Michel  Angelo  smote  marble  with  a corre- 
sponding exactitude  and  greatness  of  result.  Like  Raphael 
in  his  “ Ezekiel,”  he  could  also  be  sublime  in  a small  com- 
pass, as  we  see  in  his  models  preserved  in  his  house  at 
Florence.  Always  free  in  invention,  like  Leonardo,  he 
borrows  from  no  one,  but  creates  or  combines  after  a man- 
ner purely  his  own,  giving  even  to  the  most  art-worn  topics 
new  force  and  character.  In  his  designs  of  the  “ Annun- 
ciation ” the  Virgin  starts  with  mingled  fear  and  awe  at 
the  apparition  of  the  angel.  She  is  grand  in  conception  ; 
the  angel  heavy  and  weak,  of  the  earth,  earthy.  He  sinks 
in  the  air,  because  too  material  to  float.  In  another  draw- 
ing of  the  same  event  the  angel  poses  after  the  manner  of 
a ballarino.  Curious  enough  in  their  way  are  the  original 
drawings,  still  preserved  in  Casa  Buonarotti,  of  individ- 
ual figures  in  the  “Last  Judgment.”  In  them  the  nude 
Christ  appears  even  more  like  an  enraged  Jupiter  than  in 
the  fresco,  while  the  Madonna,  entirely  naked,  is  sketched 
as  if  in  the  attitude  of  some  extravagant  theatrical  action. 
The  whole  present  a curious  confusion  of  nudity  and  frantic 
gesticulation. 

But  whatever  may  be  his  peculiarities,  Michel  Angelo 
stands  by  himself,  a great,  original,  creative  mind,  idiosyn- 
cratic in  thought  and  style,  difficult  to  comprehend  on  ac- 
count of  his  depth  and  intensity,  while  those  who  look  chiefly 
for  grace  and  beauty  joined  to  tender  sentiment  he  almost 
repels,  from  his  delight  in  mere  mastery  over  form.  His 
muscular  tours  de  force  and  violent  action  and — as  in  the 
“ Last  Judgment,”  in  which  he  omits  nothing  that  painting 
can  render  of  difficult  human  anatomy  in  attitude,  with  a 
force  of  projection,  precision,  and  foreshortening  that  is 


430 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


wonderful  in  itself — indifference  to  the  language  of  color, 
serve  to  show  how  completely  the  sculptor  had  acquired  the 
control  of  the  painter.  He  too  frequently  sacrifices  the  no- 
bler features  of  art  to  the  development  of  the  utmost  variety 
and  strength  of  gymnastic  exercise  and  exaggerated  muscu- 
lar organization,  so  that  even  his  saints  — at  least  some  of 
them  — have  the  look  of  gladiators  or  Titans,  to  the  detri- 
ment, especially  in  the  females,  of  their  more  graceful 
points,  the  more  disagreeable  that  he  so  often  shows  a 
wanton  contempt  for  proprieties  of  posture.  In  his  eager- 
ness for  this  peculiar  power  he  offends  at  the  first  glance. 
But  when  we  get  beneath  the  superficial  aspect  and  pene- 
trate his  creative  thought,  we  there  find  that  that  was  as 
Titanesque  as  his  forms.  All  the  elements  of  a great 
painter,  even  that  which  he  usually  neglects,  color,  are  vis- 
ible in  his  Biblical  creations  that  look  down  from  the  ceil- 
ing of  the  Sistine  Chapel  with  a significant  sublimity  never 
excelled.  Here  he  shows  himself  the  great  poet.  Not,  as 
in  the  44  Last  Judgment,”  simply  varying  preceding  inven- 
tions with  an  injudicious  mingling  of  pagan  and  Christian 
imagery,  but  with  supernatural  strength,  embodying  the 
meaning  of  the  Eternal  Word  in  lofty  and  spiritual  shapes. 
Borrowing  nothing  in  composition  from  previous  art,  he 
incarnates  his  imagination  into  pictorial  life,  light,  elo- 
quence, and  beauty,  with  a purity  and  freshness  of  idea  and 
expression  that  stamp  this  production  as  uniquely  masterly. 
Its  broad  unity  is  as  perfect  as  its  solemn  repose ; and  its 
adaptation  to  its  locality  such  as  only  could  have  been 
effected  by  one  equally  great  as  architect,  sculptor,  and 
painter.  As  a whole,  it  is  the  noblest  monument  of  Michel 
Angelo’s  mind,  combining  the  most  varied  and  profound 
motives  with  adequate  material  expression,  in  which  not 
only  are  the  technical  difficulties  of  position  and  art  won- 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


451 


derfully  overcome,  but  it  also  presents  a tenderness  of  feel- 
ing, and  delicate  appreciation  of  woman’s  most  winning 
traits  and  domestic  nature,  and  a general  grace,  not  usually 
characteristic  of  him ; and  at  the  same  time,  the  dignity, 
majesty,  and  intensity,  more  exclusively  his,  harmonize  ad- 
mirably with  these  qualities.  Not  only  is  it  the  highest 
effort  of  Michel  Angelo  s mind,  but  if  it  be  viewed  as  a 
composition  blending  in  one  great  whole  the  supernal  ele- 
ments of  Christian  faith  and  historic  truth,  poetry,  tradi- 
tion, and  revelation,  in  their  fullest  and  deepest  significance, 
vitalized  by  an  inspired  imagery  suggestive  of  man’s  crea- 
tion, fall,  and  redemption,  and  symbolizing  in  grand  and 
solemn  forms  the  whole  compass  of  religion,  it  embodies 
the  highest  excellence  that  strictly  Christian  art  has  ever 
attained : a fitting  roof  to  its  glorious  temple. 

As  perfect  in  its  way,  so  far  as  can  be  judged  now, 
though  not  surpassing  Leonardo’s  rival  cartoon,  was  that 
of  his,  previously  spoken  of:  a scene  in  the  Pisan  campaign. 
A fragment  of  a sketch,  which  alone  has  reached  our 
times,  depicts  a party  of  soldiery,  bathing  in  the  Arno,  sur- 
prised by  the  call  to  battle.  Such  a motive  was  admirably 
adapted  for  the  display  of  his  favorite  powers  of  design. 
Accordingly  we  find  that  his  contemporaries,  who  had  al- 
ready begun  to  merge  the  quality  of  thought  in  the  facility 
of  execution,  esteemed  this  as  his  best  work.  No  doubt, 
so  far  as  its  perfection  corresponded  to  the  idea,  a vigorous 
and  graphic  display  of  martial  forms  under  emotions  of 
mingled  alarms,  courage,  surprise,  confusion,  and  impa- 
tience for  the  combat,  drawn  and  grouped  with  amazing 
skill  and  naturalness  of  action  and  feeling,  this  cartoon  de- 
served what  was  said  of  it.  Like  Leonardo’s,  it  formed 
an  epoch  in  this  style  of  painting,  and  while  it  remained 
was  frequented  as  a school  by  artists  of  all  classes.  Had 


4S2 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


Michel  Angelo  been  as  successful  in  his  conception  of  the 
“Last  Judgment”  as  he  was  of  the  coming  mortal  strife, 
he  would  have  excelled  every  other  artist  in  the  highest 
daring  of  art.  But  the  triumph  of  the  saved  and  the 
despair  of  the  damned,  the  joys  of  heaven  and  the  horrors 
of  hell,  the  divine  Judge,  once  the  victim  of  fallen  man, 
now  the  avenging  God  ; the  majesty  of  his  angels  and  the 
exceeding  glory  of  the  Throne  ; the  effete  earth,  its  expired 
civilization,  gaping  graves,  and  wild  drift  of  human  souls 
rising  in  continuous  vast  clouds  therefrom,  black  or  white 
as  despair  or  hope  has  colored  them  ; above,  the  rainbow 
hues,  sparkling  gems,  and  golden  gates  that  tell  of  Para- 
dise, its  sealed  multitudes  in  their  bright  garments  of  re- 
demption, whose  flood  of  light  even  reaches  the  earth  and 
makes  pale  the  lurid  glow  that  ascends  from  the  quench- 
less flames  of  the  bottomless  pit  and  quivers  on  the  ago- 
nized looks  of  those  whose  eternal  day  and  night  it  is  about 
to  be ; gloating,  impatient  Satan  counting  his  prey,  and 
his  loathsome  crew  anticipating  their  spoils ; mortality  fin- 
ished and  immortality  begun  ; mountains  falling,  oceans 
drying  up,  sin-laden  nature  disappearing  forever  in  the 
abyss  of  Eternity  ; a scene  in  which  every  human  being 
has  a soul  at  stake ; a spectacle  sublimely  appalling  in  its 
faintest  conception,  — all  this  proved  too  much  for  Michel 
Angelo,  as  it  has  for  every  artist.  Can  we  wonder  ! 

Although  his  powerful  patrons  continually  forced  upon 
him  the  greatest  undertakings,  circumstances  over  which 
he  had  no  control,  death,  poverty,  or  inconstancy  of  those 
who  supplied  the  means,  and  even  base  intrigue,  sometimes 
hindered  his  conceptions  and  prevented  their  entire  execu- 
tion. The  frescoes  of  the  Sistine  he  controlled  to  their 
completion.  But  his  noble  plan  of  St.  Peter’s  was  bas- 
tardized to  its  present  comparatively  ineffective  appearance  ; 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


433 


the  mausoleum  of  Julius  II.  was  barely  begun,  when  a 
new  pope  forced  its  relinquishment  for  designs  of  his  own  ; 
and  the  monuments  of  the  chapel  of  the  Medici  at  Flor- 
ence were  never  completed,  owing  to  pressure  of  work  at 
Rome.  The  best  years  of  his  life  were  wasted  in  quarry- 
ing marble  by  order  of  Leo  X.,  that  miscalled  patron  of 
art.  Much,  therefore,  of  his  production  but  hints,  as  it 
were,  his  full  power.  Nothing  is  more  thoroughly  charac- 
teristic of  him  than  those  noble  statues,  unlike  to  classical 
art  as  like  to  aught  in  modern,  peerless  in  their  significant 
sublimity,  perfect  in  their  seeming  incompleteness,  giants 
of  another  sphere  that  forever  guard  the  tombs  of  that  ever 
to  be  abhorred  race  of  liberty-slayers,  symbolizing  the 
Night  and  Dawn  of  another  Italy ; prophetic  marbles 
whose  lessons  will  yet  be  household  words  among  her  citi- 
zens, over  which  broods,  in  stern,  remorseful  melancholy, 
the  dissolute  Lorenzo,  a fitting  representative  of  Tusca- 
ny’s Scourge. 

That  he  intended  to  convey  political  thought  to  his  en- 
slaved countrymen,  ingenious,  hold,  and  precious,  is  evident 
from  his  poetical  reply  to  Giovanni  Strozzi,  who  placed  the 
following  lines  upon  the  statue  of  “ Night.” 

“ Night,  whom  you  see  in  soft  repose. 

An  angel  sculptured,  yet  life  glows 
Where  sleep  exists  : speak  then,  for  she, 

Spite  of  the  doubts,  will  answer  thee.” 

To  which  Night  rejoins,  through  the  sculptor’s  muse, 

“ While  power  unjust  and  guilt  prevail, 

Stone  would  I be,  and  sleep  I hail : 

To  see  or  feel  would  each  he  woe ; 

Oh  ! wake  me  not,  and  whisper  low.”  * 

Bold  words  and  true ! The  Medici  wisely  overlooked 

* English  version  from  Harford’s  Life  of  M.  A.  Buonarotti,  vol.  ii.  p.  31. 
London,  1857. 


28 


434 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


them,  not  from  any  lack  of  appetite  to  stifle  the  remotest 
protest  to  their  basely  gotten  power,  hut  because  there  was 
but  one  Michel  Angelo.  The  sleep  of  centuries  lingers 
over  Italy.*  But  she  is  awakening  like  a young  giant  re- 
freshed to  run  his  course. 

In  his  attachment  to  liberty,  religious  aspirations,  and 
uncompromising  independence,  Michel  Angelo  rises  supe- 
rior to  Leonardo.  Great  principles  underlie  his  character. 
Even  his  defects  of  temper  and  art  were  allied  to  greatness 
of  mind,  though  in  regard  to  Raphael,  as  we  shall  see  by 
and  by,  in  one  instance  at  least  we  must  note  an  exception. 
Impatience  of  littleness  and  dishonesty,  an  eager,  unfalter- 
ing struggle  towards  what,  though  fore-reached  in  his  im- 
aginations, was  unattainable  in  material,  were  the  causes  of 
his  more  obvious  weaknesses,  or  more  properly  speaking,  ex- 
aggerations, in  either.  Both  Leonardo  and  Michel  Angelo 
were  thorough  incarnations  of  the  Etruscan  aesthetic  facul- 
ties. The  former  predominating  through  abstract  intellect, 
basing  his  art  on  facts  and  science  ; the  completest  exam- 
ple of  naturalism  the  world  has  ever  produced.  The  lat- 
ter was  even  more  deeply  rooted  in  the  Tuscan  element, 
individualistic  in  the  highest  and  loftiest  degree,  having 

* Written  before  her  sons  under  Garibaldi  and  Victor  Emmanuel  had 
established  their  claim  to  freedom.  There  is  no  brighter  leaf  in  the  history  of 
any  country  than,  not  alone  the  heroic  deeds  of  the  past  and  present  year,  but 
the  stern  self-denial,  uncompromising  patriotic  sacrifice,  and  patient  abiding 
of  their  time,  which  have  characterized  the  workers  out  of  the  problem  of 
Italian  unity  and  liberty.  Nobler  material  for  a great  people  nowhere  exists 
than  among  Italy’s  men  and  women.  A nation  is  now  being  born  of  them, 
to  whose  future  their  past  in  art,  science,  literature,  and  power  will  be  but  as 
infancy  compared  with  manhood.  God  bless  Italy  ! Away  with  those  who 
would,  like  the  Austrian  leech  or  the  Papal  vampire,  suck  out  her  life’s  blood! 
Unto  them  let  there  be  that  red  baptism  and  scourging  of  recoiling  misdeeds 
which  reforms  or  breaks  the  self-hardened  hearts  of  evil-anointed  rulers,  be 
they  the  spawn  of  crowns  or  votes.  We  speak  as  we  feel,  after  long  witness- 
ing the  ruthless  tyranny  and  dirty  state-craft  of  Austria  in  Italy,  and  the  utter 
eclipse  of  a people’s  noblest  energies  and  aspirations  by  papal  misrule. 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


435 


no  real  sympathy  with  Grecian  sentiment  in  art,  though 
admiring  its  technical  details,  profound,  ambitious,  rarely 
historic,  less  seldom  sensuous  or  mythological,  but  when 
indulging  in  the  latter,  able  to  render  its  true  spirit  apart 
from  sensualism,  noble  and  dignified,  and  in  the  worthiest 
sense  a Christian  artist,  interpenetrated  with  the  spirit  of 
the  Word  made  flesh.  And  this  is  his  highest  glory  ; over- 
looked too  much  in  the  vigor  of  his  stroke  and  the  gran- 
deur of  his  forms ; but  the  more  eminent  and  noteworthy, 
inasmuch  as  his  religion  was  tempered  by  a philosophy 
which  cleansed  it  of  egotism  and  fanaticism.  He  was  the 
climax  of  that  religious  Epic  art  which,  born  with  Giotto, 
we  have  traced  through  so  long  a line  of  distinguished  ar- 
tists. And  before  leaving  him,  in  thus  summing  up  his 
genius,  we  must  not  omit  to  record  the  flattering  testimo- 
nials paid  to  it  by  sovereign  powers,  coupled  with  pressing 
temptations  to  serve  them.  Bajazet  II.  solicited  him  to 
come  to  Constantinople,  and  even  sent  him  an  uncondi- 
tional letter  of  credit  for  his  expenses,  with  inducements 
sufficient  to  fire  the  ambition  or  self-interest  of  any  one 
but  Michel  Angelo.  Francis  I.  tempted  him  by  much  flat- 
tery and  many  golden  arguments  to  take  up  his  residence 
at  his  court.  The  Venetian  republic  offered  him  an  annual 
pension  of  six  hundred  crowns  to  come  to  Venice,  with  dis- 
cretionary power  to  employ  himself  as  he  liked,  and  to  he 
paid  accordingly,  without  reference  to  his  salary.  He  de- 
clined all.  No  temptation  could  swerve  him  from  his  in- 
dependence and  integrity.  For  to  have  broken  any  agree- 
ment, real  or  implied,  even  in  spirit,  for  a mercenary  or 
ambitious  motive,  would  have  forever  dishonored  him  with 
himself. 

Notwithstanding  many  trying  bodily  infirmities,  Michel 
Angelo’s  mind  remained  clear  and  vigorous  to  his  end. 


436 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


At  eighty-seven  he  produced  a beautiful  and  highly  fin- 
ished model  of  the  cupola  of  St.  Peter’s,  partly  made  with 
his  own  hands.  Cherishing  no  ill-will  for  the  paternal 
floggings,  he  now  writes  that  he  should  esteem  it  a privi- 
lege for  “ my  infirm  bones  to  repose  beside  those  of  my 
father.”  His  matured  views  of  religion,  in  common  with 
those  of  Vittoria  Colon na,  were  what  is  understood  among 
Protestants  as  “ evangelical,”  though  in  conformity  to  the 
Roman  ritual.  In  his  last  moments,  17th  February,  1563, 
he  desired  to  be  reminded  of  the  sufferings  of  Jesus 
Christ. 

“ Eternal  Lord,  from  the  world  unloos’d, 

Wearied  to  Thee  I turn. 

*####* 

View  not  my  sins  in  the  condemning  light 
Of  justice  strict ; avert  Thine  awful  ear, 

Nor  stretch  forth  on  me  Thine  avenging  arm.” 

This  is  the  language  of  one  of  his  sonnets.  An  almost 
ascetic  melancholy  occupied  his  mind  in  his  later  years. 
Nor  is  it,  in  view  of  the  condition  of  society  and  politics 
and  his  naturally  grave  temperament,  a matter  of  much 
surprise  that  his  feelings  should  have  turned  to  the  sombre 
side  of  life  and  piety.  He  had  not  that  lively,  ecstatic 
faith  of  the  early  purists,  which  made  them  overlook  the 
gloom  of  earth  in  the  anticipatory  peace  and  joy  of  eternal 
life. 

Reviewing  his  own  life  and  artistic  ambition  towards 
their  close  in  the  following  sonnet,  turned  into  English  by 
Mr.  Glassford,  he  thus  feelingly  speaks. 

“ Now  my  fair  bark  through  life’s  tempestuous  flood 
Is  steered,  and  full  in  view  the  port  is  seen, 

Where  all  must  answer  what  their  course  has  been, 

And  every  work  he  tried,  if  bad  or  good. 

Now  do  those  lofty  dreams,  my  fancy’s  brood, 

Which  made  of  Art  an  idol  and  a queen, 


MIoHEL  ANGELO. 


437 


Melt  into  air ; and  now  I feel,  how  keen  ! 

That  what  I needed  most  I most  withstood. 

Ye  fabled  joys,  ye  tales  of  empty  love, 

What  are  ye  now,  if  twofold  death  be  nigh  ? 

The  first  is  certain,  and  the  last  I dread. 

Ah  ! what  does  Sculpture,  what  does  Painting  prove. 

When  we  have  seen  the  Cross  and  fixed  our  eye 
On  him  whose  arms  of  love  were  there  outspread ! ” 

A few  days  before  his  departure,  he  disposed  of  himself 
and  his  effects  in  the  following  laconic  and  characteristic 
manner.  “ I commend  my  soul  to  God,  my  body  to  the 
earth,  and  my  property  to  my  nearest  of  kin.”  A month 
later,  his  corpse  continued  to  be  so  well  preserved  as  almost 
to  persuade  those  who  saw  it  that  he  lay  in  a “ sweet  and 
quiet  sleep.”  Even  in  the  last  century,  on  his  tomb  being 
opened  in  Sta.  Croce,  at  Florence,  where  he  had  been  in- 
terred with  honors  and  a mourning  rarely  given  to  any 
one,  the  corpse  was  found  to  be  still  in  good  preservation. 

His  soul  still  lives  amongst  us  in  his  good  works.  So 
emphatic  a character,  all  granite,  could  not  fail  to  deeply 
affect  the  art  of  his  age.  Leonardo’s  force  was  dissipated 
through  many  channels,  while  Michel  Angelo’s  centred  into 
one  deep,  uniform  current,  sweeping  along  with  it  many 
able  minds.  The  chief  of  his  followers  was  Ricciarelli,  or 
Daniele  di  Vol terra,  who  died  in  1.566,  and  Fra  Sebastiano 
del  Piombo  (11-85—1547),  of  Venice,  who  to  Michel  An- 
gelo’s force  of  design  united  that  strength  and  harmony  of 
coloring:  which  he  neglected.  But  with  these  and  a few 
other  partial  exceptions,  the  school  that  sprung  from  him 
quite  justified  his  prediction  “ that  his  style  would  be  pro- 
ductive of  inept  artists.”  # * Nothing  short  of  his  calibre  of 
soul  could  inspire  the  forms  that  he  created  with  life  and 
poetry.  Inferior  men  saw  in  them  only  grandeur  of  de- 
sign and  cleverness  of  hand.  Imitating  these  only,  ambi- 
* Lanzi,  vol.  i.  p.  176. 


438 


MICHEL  ANGELO. 


tious  of  statuesque  expression,  neglectful  of  the  principles 
of  color  and  composition,  without  invention  or  sentiment, 
the  weak  artists  that  “ worshipped  Michel  Angelo  as  their 
great  master,  prince,  and  god  of  design,”  * produced  but 
little  that  was  respectable  and  much  that  was  contempti- 
ble, and  their  works,  still  crowding  churches  and  palaces 
throughout  Italy,  deserve  no  other  mention  than  that  of 
utter  condemnation. 


* Claudio  Tolomei.  See  Lanzi,  vol.  i.  p.  176. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


The  Power  of  a Name  over  Feeling.  Whose  Name  in  Art  most  pleasantly 
excites  Feeling.  Raffaello  Santi,  or  Raphael,  1483-1520.  His  Birth, 
Infancy,  Boyhood,  Education,  Orphanage.  Becomes  a Pupil  of  Perugino. 
Goes  to  Florence.  New  Friends  and  Associations.  The  Charm  of  his 
Character.  Whence  and  What.  Rivalry  with  Buonarotti  at  Rome.  In- 
trigue against  him.  Court  of  Leo  X.  Aretino  and  Vittoria  Colcnna,  the 
Extremes  of  the  Character  of  the  Times.  Raphael’s  Amiability.  Adapta- 
bility to  Place  and  Circumstance.  Susceptibility  and  Sensibility.  Connec- 
tion with  the  Eornarina.  Escapes  being  a Cardinal  and  Benedict.  Cause 
of  his  Death.  His  Universalism.  Breadth  of  Temperament.  Analysis  of 
his  Purism,  Naturalism,  and  Classicalism.  His  Relations  to  Painting  in 
general.  Chief  Merits  and  the  Reverse.  Why  Raphael  is  the  greatest 
of  Painters. 

How  much  of  pain  or  pleasure  may  be  embodied  in  a 
name ! Among  the  living  are  there  not  always  some 
whose  mention  stirs  up  recollections  that  we  would  glad- 
ly bury  in  oblivion,  or  emotions  that  thrill  us  as  with 
delicious  strains  of  music]  Memory  may  slumber.  But 
one  familiar  word  suffices  to  reawaken  it  to  active  exist- 
ence, causing  us  to  weep  or  rejoice  according  to  the  string 
it  touches.  So  it  is  with  those  whom  we  have  not  seen  on 
earth,  but  whose  spirit  lingers  in  our  midst  to  instruct  or 
delight  the  successors  to  their  toils  and  temptations : and 
not  only  to  these,  but  to  the  hopes,  joys,  sympathies,  and 
knowledge  which  brightened  their  earthly  existence.  The 
world  is  better  for  their  sojourn.  Our  loads  are  lightened, 
pleasures  augmented,  and  spirits  refreshed  by  the  tokens 
of  their  hearts  and  minds : a magnetic  flow  of  human- 
ity from  the  Past  to  the  Present,  in  turn  to  be  trans- 


440 


RAPHAEL. 


mitted  by  us  as  the  sacred  legacy  of  genius  to  the  Fu- 
ture. 

In  the  review  of  art  to  this  point,  have  we  not  met  many 
artists  whose  divine  flow  has  quickened  our  higher  natures 
and  exalted  our  faculties  to  a more  interior  sense  and  an 
acuter  appreciation  of  spiritual  and  intellectual  life  ? To  all 
such  our  hearts  gravitate  with  grateful  acknowledgment. 
We  owe  them  a vast  debt.  For  their  art  has  expanded  us 
as  men,  and  strengthened  our  consciousness  of  immortality. 
Theirs  is  an  eloquence  that  makes  our  spirits  burn  within 
us.  No  fear,  as  with  the  living,  of  injudicious  appeal  or 
verbal  misunderstanding.  We  are  freed  from  envy,  jeal- 
ousy, self-interest,  or  deceit,  in  all  that  relates  to  them. 
They  have  coined  their  souls  into  tangible  shapes,  photo- 
graphing, as  it  were,  their  faith,  feelings,  and  knowledge  — 
life  and  immortality  as  understood  by  them  — for  our  well- 
being, purged  of  irritation  and  accident,  with  nought  be- 
tween us  and  them  to  disturb  except  such  disfigurements 
and  veiling  as  jealous  time  visits  upon  all  material.  Wel- 
come, unseen  friends ! Strangers  they  are  not,  for  we 
read  their  characters  and  know  that  only  a thin  crust  of 
matter  divides  their  spirits  from  ours.  May  God  multiply 
upon  them  there  the  happiness  they  confer  here  ! 

Who  of  all  the  children  of  past  time  is  most  akin  to  our 
sympathies  in  all  things  'l  Answers  will  vary  according 
to  differences  of  mind  and  temperament.  But  we  believe  the 
popular  suffrage  would  fall  upon  Raffaello  * d’  Urbino,  or, 
as  he  is  more  commonly  known  out  of  Italy,  Raphael;  as 
happy  in  his  name,  given  as  an  augury  of  good  when  he 
first  saw  light,  as  fortunate  in  life,  in  which  respect  he 
alone  of  the  Etruscan  sons  of  art  equals  Giotto.  Then, 

* This  is  the  modern  Italian  orthography.  The  artist  himself  spelt  it  in- 
differently, Rafaele  or  Raphaello. 


RAPHAEL. 


44 1 

too,  although  establishing  his  capacity  for  sculpture  and  ar- 
chitecture, and  even  making  notes  on  art,  as  if  prompted 
by  an  unfledged  idea  of  authorship,  he  was  emphatically 
the  Painter  ; for  he  devoted  himself  to  painting  with 
unsurpassed  industry  and  success. 

Raphael  was  horn  in  the  picturesque  city  of  Urbino,  on 
the  £8th  of  March,  14*83.  His  father,  Giovanni  Santi, 
whose  career  as  painter  and  poet  has  been  noticed,  pos- 
sessed a cultivated  mind,  refined  manners,  and  gentie  dis- 
position ; which  traits,  with  large  increase,  were  transmit- 
ted to  his  son.  Nothing  is  known  of  his  mother,  who  died 
when  he  was  eight  years  old,  except  that  her  sensible  hus- 
band, contrary  to  the  general  custom,  required  her  to  nurse 
their  child  herself  and  to  train  his  tender  years  at  home. 
There  can  he  no  doubt  that  their  relation  was  a tender  and 
loving  one.  For  this,  proof  enough  exists  in  the  pure  sen- 
timent and  infantile  joy  of  his  “ Holy  Families,”  which  in- 
variably bear  exquisite  traces  of  his  refined  and  affectionate 
conception  of  the  natural  tie  between  a mother  and  son. 
Tradition  puts  him  as  a hoy-angel  in  one  of  his  father’s 
pictures. * It  is  easy  to  believe  that  that  sweet  countenance, 
with  the  long,  wavy,  golden-hued  hair  flowing  over  the 
shoulders,  was  modelled  from  his  son.  As  he  grew,  his 
locks  became  of  a rich  chestnut  tint,  eyes  dark  hazel,  and 
his  features  assumed  a soft  melancholy,  not  sad  but  spir- 
itual, most  engaging  to  look  upon.  Without  being  strik- 
ingly beautiful,  he  was  early  said  to  have  the  look  “ of  an 
angel ; ” which  comparison,  after  he  passed  from  the  relig- 
ious atmosphere  of  Umbria  into  the  classical  shades  of 
Rome,  was  changed  into  “ the  favorite  of  Apollo.”  So 
precocious  was  his  talent  for  art  that  he  assisted  his  father 
in  painting  almost  as  soon  as  he  entered  his  studio.  Be- 

* Tig.,  vol.  iii.  p.  132,  Storia  della  Pittura  Italiana,  Rosini. 


U2 


RAPHAEL. 


fore  Giovanni  died  he  had  provided  him  with  a step- 
mother, whose  love  he  won  and  returned.  Upon  parting 
with  her,  at  the  desire  of  his  uncle,  to  enter  the  studio  of 
Perugino,  he  shed  “many  tears.”  Afterwards,  in  1499, 
upon  learning  that  dissensions  had  arisen  under  the  widow’s 
roof,  growing  out  of  the  division  of  the  scanty  funds  left  his 
family  by  his  father,  the  youthful  Raphael  hastened  home 
and  conciliated  the  parties,  devoting  his  first  earnings  for  two 
years  to  the  support  of  his  mother-in-law  and  his  sister. 

In  Perugia,  as  everywhere  else,  he  made  numerous 
friends.  Docile,  teachable,  susceptible,  in  the  unsullied 
purity  of  a piously  trained  infancy,  surrounded  by  the 
works  of  the  Purists,  and  attracted  to  their  study  by  the 
example  of  his  master,  Raphael  made  rapid  progress  in  art 
in  the  direction  of  the  religious  school.  Before  he  was 
sixteen  he  had  studied  Perugino’s  designs  and  style  with 
so  much  spirit,  that  his  copies  of  his  paintings  were  fre- 
quently mistaken  for  the  originals.  Few  of  these  works 
have  been  discovered,  if  preserved,  though,  as  he  remained 
with  him  four  years,  with  his  facility  of  labor,  he  must 
have  executed  many.  It  is  not  difficult  now  to  detect  in 
those  to  be  seen,  the  greater  hardness  of  manner  and  the 
timidity  of  youthful  design  of  the  pupil,  with  more  refine- 
ment of  feeling  and  variations  in  motive  and  execution, 
such  as  an  independent  mind  of  greater  innate  delicacy  of 
sentiment,  beginning  to  be  aware  of  its  power,  would  in- 
stinctively make.  If  possible,  he  throws  into  the  eyes  of 
his  personages  even  more  earnestness  and  a loftier  ecstatic 
vision  than  did  Perugino  into  his,  at  the  same  time  gradu- 
ally developing  that  peculiar  grace  of  movement  and  ideal- 
ism of  character  which  he  subsequently  carried  to  such 
perfection.  * 

* For  example  of  one  of  these  early  paintings  after  Perugino,  see  Appendix, 


RAPHAEL. 


443 


The  inspirations  of  Umbrian  art  and  life  were  not  suffi- 
cient to  satisfy  his  impressible,  varied  mind,  and  in  150d 
he  was  attracted  to  Florence.  This  step  was  much  better 
for  his  regular  and  thorough  progress  than  if  he  had  gone 
directly  to  Rome.  By  it  he  became  familiar  with  the  best 
examples  of  living,  naturalistic  art,  before  being  brought 
under  the  fascinations  of  the  classical.  He  spent  several 
years  in  that  city,  devoting  himself  with  “ indescribable  en- 
ergy and  application”  to  his  studies.  We  have  already  al- 
luded to  the  friendship  he  formed  with  Fra  Bartolomeo  and 
its  mutual  benefits.  Beside  the  frescoes  of  Masaccio,  which 
he  carefully  studied,  the  noble  and  accurate  design  of  Leo- 
nardo impressed  him  strongly,  and  led  him  out  of  the  re- 
stricted precision  of  the  Umbrian  school  into  a broader 
and  more  comprehensive  view  of  art.  Nothing  escaped 
his  quick,  tenacious  observation.  He  reaped  from  every 
source  that  was  open  to  him  a rich  harvest  of  ideas  and 
knowledge.  So,  too,  later,  when  at  Rome,  availing  him- 
self of  every  opportunity,  he  acquired  the  experience  and 
feeling  of  classical  art ; mingling  and  transfusing  all  these 
varied  acquisitions  by  the  alchemy  of  his  own  graceful 
power  into  styles  of  his  own,  which,  although  confessing 
his  indebtedness  to  other  minds,  maintained  his  own  indi- 
viduality and  returned  all  his  borrowings  to  the  world, 
with  large  interest,  in  coin  of  his  own  impress. 

Raphael’s  amiability  led  him  occasionally  to  sacrifice  his 
own  pure  taste  and  the  strict  rules  of  composition  to  the 
unartistic  desires  of  friends  and  patrons.  The  “ Madonna 
del  Sisto,”  “ Expulsion  of  Heliodorus  from  the  Temple,” 
and  the  “ Transfiguration”  are  examples  of  the  intrcduc- 

under  head  of  Raphael  in  the  “ Descriptive  Catalogue ; ” and  pi.  K,  fig.  33, 
for  the  composition  only.  This  plate,  and  those  of  Perugino,  fig.  32,  and  Lo 
Spagna,  fig.  34,  are  useful  in  the  above  respect  only.  In  every  other  particular 
they  fail  in  giving  a just  idea  of  the  paintings. 


RAPHAEL. 


444 

tion  of  forced  accessories  to  the  injury  of  their  unity  and 
meaning.  Vasari,  who  had  the  Michel  Angelo  fondness 
for  nudity,  says  of  one  of  his  early  paintings,  commis- 
sioned by  some  nuns  of  Padua,  66  the  infant  Christ  is  in 
the  lap  of  the  Virgin,  and  is  fully  clothed,  as  it  pleased 
those  simple  and  pious  ladies  that  he  should  be.”  But  ex- 
ceptions of  this  character  are  not  common.  His  powers  of 
persuasion  were  irresistible.  Not  from  the  force  of  logic 
or  eloquence,  as  with  Leonardo,  but  from  the  magnetism  of 
a lovable  disposition.  Listen  to  the  often-quoted  words  of 
his  naive  chronicler.  They  steal  over  one  like  enchant- 
ment. u The  power  was  accorded  to  him  by  Heaven  of 
bringing  all  who  approached  his  presence  into  harmony ; 
an  effect  inconceivably  surprising  in  our  calling,  and  con- 
trary to  the  nature  of  our  artists.”  (O  rare  Vasari  !j 
“ Yet  all,  I do  not  say  of  the  inferior  grades  only,  but  even 
those  who  lay  claim  to  be  great  personages  — and  of  this 
humor  our  art  produces  immense  numbers” — (Well  said 
again,  honest  Vasari!)  — “became  as  of  one  mind,  once 
they  began  to  labor  in  the  society  of  Raphael,  continuing 
in  such  unity  and  concord  that  all  harsh  feelings  and  evil 
dispositions  became  subdued,  and  disappeared  in  his  pres- 
ence ; every  vile  and  base  thought  vanishing  before  his  in- 
fluence. At  no  other  time  has  such  harmony  prevailed. 
But  this  was  caused  by  his  surpassing  all  others  in  cour- 
tesy as  well  as  art.  Every  one  confessed  the  persuasion 
of  his  sweet  and  graceful  disposition,  which  was  so  replete 
with  goodness  and  so  perfect  in  charity  that  not  only  men 
honored  him  but  the  very  animals  caressed  and  followed 
him.” 

It  is  not  surprising  that  this  atmosphere  of  harmony  — 
a free  gift  of  Heaven  — should  have  permeated  his  art! 
Stranger  or  friend,  it  mattered  not,  with  all  his  occupa- 


RAPHAEL. 


U5 


tions,  he  found  time  to  respond  to  the  calls  of  either  for 
assistance,  giving  away  his  designs,  instructing  verbally, 
and  often  leaving  his  own  to  aid  another’s  work.  He  kept 
a host  of  artists  in  constant  employment,  teaching  and  ben- 
efiting them,  rather  as  a loving  parent  than  as  a master. 
At  Rome,  if  he  went  to  court,  he  was  followed  by  a cor- 
tege of  fifty  or  more  painters,  — men  of  rare  excellence 
among  them,  — who,  after  this  public  manner,  delighted  to 
honor  him.  His  pupils  were  as  zealous  for  his  honor  as 
the  most  loyal  retainers  of  a mediaeval  baron.  When  Rosso 
sought  to  deprecate  his  works,  they  fell  upon  him  with  mur- 
derous blows,  from  which  he  was  but  too  happy  to  escape 
on  any  terms.  To  have  been  thus  beloved  by  ambitious 
and  older  minds  of  every  grade,  professional  rivals  as  some 
might  esteem  themselves,  bespeaks  a genius  of  affection  as 
divine  as  that  which  interpenetrated  his  painting.  “ In  short, 
he  did  not  live  the  life  of  a painter,  but  that  of  a prince.” 
Julius  II.  and  Leo  X.  treated  him  on  the  footing  of  friendly 
equality ; in  reality  acknowledging  there  was  more  divinity 
in  his  credentials  than  in  theirs.  Overlooking  the  jealousy 
of  Michel  Angelo,  who  declared  that  “ whatever  Raphael 
knew  in  his  art  he  knew  from  me,”  Raphael  thanks  God 
that  he  was  born  in  the  age  of  Buonarotti.  If  he  were  at 
any  time  indignant  at  the  invidious  comparisons  made  be- 
tween his  designs  and  those  of  that  artist  by  the  partisans 
of  the  latter,  it  never  provoked  him  to  ungenerous  retalia- 
tion or  unjust  remarks.  Perhaps,  we  should  except  his 
sharp  repartee  to  his  irritable  rival,  who,  contemning  his 
love  or  rather  his  permission  of  public  display,  called  out  one 
day  to  him  as  he  passed  by  his  house  attended  by  his  usual 
brilliant  retinue  of  friends  and  pupils,  “You  march  with  a 
grand  train,  like  a general.”  “And  you,”  retorted  Raphael, 
“go  alone,  like  a hangman”  — the  sole  ungracious  speech 


U6 


RAPHAEL. 


of  his  on  record.  Considering  the  invidious  bitterness  with 
which  their  disciples  discussed  their  respective  merits,  and 
the  nature  of  their  contest  for  artistic  supremacy,  it  beto- 
kens much  mutual  respect  and  self-control  that  between 
them  nothing  worse  came  of  it.  At  one  period  Michel 
Angelo  believed  that  Raphael  had  caballed  with  his  uncle 
Bramante  to  injure  him  in  the  estimation  of  Julius  II. 
But  it  did  not  prevent  him,  as  was  mentioned  in  the  notice 
of  the  former,  from  recommending  Raphael  as  the  better 
adapted  to  carry  out  the  designs  of  the  pope  for  the  Sis- 
tine  Chapel. 

In  each  of  these  great  artists  there  was  a definite,  specif- 
ic superiority  to  the  other.  Raphael’s  bias  was  as  marked 
towards  painting  as  his  rival’s  towards  sculpture.  Grace 
predominated  in  the  one,  grandeur  in  the  other.  Neither 
equals  his  rival  when  competing  for  his  specific  excellence, 
though  in  comparison  with  other  artists  attaining  a positive 
superiority  in  his  aim.  Raphael  no  doubt  did  study  and 
profit  by  the  works  of  Michel  Angelo,  and  in  his  prophets 
and  sibyls  aspired  to  a direct  competition  with  him  in  his 
particular  greatness,  while  on  the  other  hand  Buonarotti’s 
pride  would  not  permit  him  to  confess  he  had  anything  to 
gain  by  a similar  course  with  Raphael’s  paintings.  Yet 
in  the  heat  of  the  competition  between  them  for  the  suf- 
frages of  Rome,  conscious  of  his  own  feebleness  in  color, 
particularly  in  oils,  which  method  he  had  sneered  at  as  a 
woman’s  art,  fit  only  for  the  indolent  and  dawdling,  and 
stung  by  the  unfavorable  comparisons  publicly  made  in  this 
respect  between  them,  lie  plotted  with  Sebastiano  del  Piombo 
to  secretly  furnish  him  with  designs,  to  which  Sebastiano 
should  give  the  magic  richness  and  warmth  of  his  Venetian 
coloring,  passing  the  paintings  oft  as  entirely  his  own.  It 
was  a subtle  plot,  so  unworthy  of  Michel  Angelo’s  charac- 


RAPHAEL. 


44<7 


ter  that  did  not  the  partial  Vasari  narrate  it,*  one  would 
not  be  disposed  to  give  it  credit.  His  object  was,  by  com- 
bining bis,  as  be  conceived,  superiority  of  design  with  the 
Venetian  superiority  of  color,  to  raise  up  an  artist,  even  at 
bis  own  expense  in  public  opinion,  that  should  beyond  con- 
tradiction rank  above  Raphael,  and  thus  lessen  the  extraor- 
dinary esteem  in  which  he  was  held.  In  fact,  to  humble 
him,  he  was  willing  to  crown  a sovereign  over  both. 
Moreover,  he  intrigued,  “ sotto  ornbra  di  terzo ,”  under  the 
shade  of  a third  party,  to  be  made  umpire  to  decide  be- 
tween Raphael  and  Sebastiano  in  the  rivalry  he  had  con- 
cocted, and  so  guide  public  opinion  in  the  coveted  direc- 
tion. But  in  his  impatience  to  exalt  his  coadjutor,  he  did 
not  sufficiently  conceal  his  own  hand  in  the  work.  The 
secret  leaked  out,  though  not  until  his  weighty  authority 
had  brought  many  to  attest  the  victory  of  his  friend  and 
greatly  to  exalt  his  reputation.  The  whole  affair  seems  an 
extraordinary  weakness  in  Buonarotti ; for  his  antagonist 
could  not  have  failed  to  recognize  his  design,  particularly  in 
the  “ Christ  at  the  Column,”  done  for  San  Pietro  in  Mon- 
torio.  When  the  conspiracy  got  bruited  abroad,  the  politic 
and  amiable  Raphael  quietly  observed,  “ I rejoice  at  the 
favor  Michel  Angelo  does  me,  since  he  proves  that  he 
thinks  me  worthy  to  compete  with  himself  and  not  with 
Sebastiano.”  j* 

The  beautiful  character  that  in  his  youth  endeared  Ra- 
phael to  every  one  he  never  lost.  No  ill-tempered  or 
uncourteous  act  escaped  him.  He  always  manifested  the 
same  uniform  suavity,  perfect  grace  of  manner,  and  sin- 
cerity of  heart ; ever  genial,  lovable,  and  generous ; in 
truth,  to  use  the  words  of  the  Litany,  delivered  from 

* Vita  di  Sebastiano,  p.  362. 

t Mengs,  cited  by  Quatremere  de  Quincy,  Bohn,  p.  399. 


US 


RAPHAEL. 


“ pride,  vain-glory,  and  hypocrisy ; from  envy,  hatred, 
malice,  and  all  uncharitableness : ” such  was  his  innate, 
every-day  Christianity ; a Christianity  born  of  the  spirit, 
untinctured  by  dogmas  or  metaphysical  speculations,  into 
the  mazes  of  which  he  was  indisposed  to  enter.  For  his 
pliable  nature  accommodated  itself  without  doubt  or  ques- 
tionings to  the  ritual  in  which  it  had  been  nurtured.  What 
marvel  that  unutterable  sorrow  pervaded  the  Eternal  City 
at  his  premature  death.  A genius  like  his  was  indeed 
rare  to  earth.  Count  Castiglione  exclaimed,  “ I cannot 
believe  myself  in  Rome,  now  that  my  poor  Raphael  is 
no  longer  here.”  He  was  mistaken.  Raphael  lives  ever 
in  Rome ; as  much  as  Paul  or  Caesar. 

In  doing  justice  to  his  attractive  qualities,  caution  should 
be  exercised  not  to  unduly  elevate  him  above  his  actual  vir- 
tue. His  goodness  and  amiability,  like  his  feeling  for 
grace  and  beauty,  were  instinctive.  Nature  had  endowed 
him  with  a beautiful  organization  of  spirit  and  body.  In 
him  there  was  no  labored  tact  or  severely  trained  courtesy. 
His  qualities  gushed  freely  and  melodiously,  like  the  waters 
of  a fountain,  making  all  life  around  them  delectably  green 
and  flowery.  They  cannot  therefore  be  counted  to  his 
moral  credit  in  the  same  degree  as  if  they  had  been  the  re- 
sult of  the  victory  of  religious  principle  over  a rebellious 
nature.  Michel  Angelo  had  much  controversy  with  his 
temper.  His  idiosyncrasies  were  the  reverse  of  those  of 
Raphael.  Hence  there  was  a severer  virtue  in  his  mani- 
fest infirmities,  checked  as  no  doubt  they  were  by  a rigid 
sense  of  duty  and  a conscientious  regard  for  religious 
truth,  than  in  the  more  agreeable  deportment  of  his  com- 
petitor, who  floated  gayly  and  prosperously  on  the  current 
of  events  without  other  guide  than  his  refined  and  lovable 
instincts.  Then,  too,  he  had  had  the  advantage  of  being 


RAPHAEL. 


449 


early  trained  by  pious  and  cultivated  parents,  who,  compre- 
hending- from  the  first  the  rare  faculties  and  goodness  of 
their  son,  developed  them  in  their  most  hopeful  direction. 
His  ambition  was  always  unselfish.  In  him  it  was  a gen- 
erous love  of  distinction  based  upon  his  own  deserts,  over- 
flowing with  tenderness  to  his  kin,  esteeming  his  uncle 
“ dear  as  a father,”  and  writing  to  him  in  the  height  of  his 
prosperity,  with  almost  childish  simplicity  and  delight,  “ I 
am  doing  honor  to  you,  to  all  our  relations,  and  to  our 
country.” 

The  loving  remembrance  with  which  he  ever  regarded 
Perugino,  who  so  soon  after  their  meeting  had  generously 
prognosticated  that  his  pupil  would  shortly  become  his 
teacher,  the  graceful  acknowledgment  he  made  him  by 
causing  his  frescoes  in  the  Vatican  to  be  preserved  when 
doomed  to  destruction,  and  the  introduction  of  Peru- 
gino’s  portrait  into  his  compositions,  are  characteristic  of 
Raphael  s tenacious  gratitude  to  all  who  had  shown  him 
kindness.  Perhaps  no  quality  in  him  is  more  conspicuous 
than  his  facility  of  adapting  himself  to  every  social  con- 
dition without  detriment  to  his  better  nature,  of  adding 
to  his  own  stock  of  ideas  from  every  source  of  knowledge 
open  to  him,  culling  from  it  as  the  bee  does  pollen  from 
flowers,  and  reproducing  it  in  new  and  richer  shape. 
Hence  he  was  always  varying  and  progressing,  while  his 
correct  taste  and  pure  sentiment  kept  him  from  wander- 
ing far  at  any  time  from  the  right  direction,  though  adapt- 
ing himself  with  ingenuous  ease  to  the  varied  circum- 
stances of  his  situations. 

While  in  Umbria,  he  was  a purist  because  of  its  re- 
ligious influences  brought  to  bear  upon  the  congenial 
traits  of  his  own  mind,  which  expanded  towards  them 

instinctively  and  gracefully.  Had  his  genius  been  con- 

29 


450 


RAPHAEL. 


fined  to  this  locality,  the  world  would  have  known  him  only 
as  a master  who  perfected  the  style  of  Perugino,  adding  to 
it  the  purity  and  variety  which  it  wanted.  Florentine 
teachings  transformed  him  from  the  sweet  and  pensive 
spiritualist  into  the  dramatic  artist,  enlarging  his  sphere  of 
observation  and  directing  him  more  particularly  towards 
nature  as  a field  of  study,  promoting  a taste  for  portraiture 
and  historical  painting,  though  without  destroying  his  pre- 
vious inspirations.  Transferred  from  factious,  enterprising 
Florence  to  corrupt  Rome  — it  was  the  golden  age  of  Leo  X., 
when  vice  and  infidelity  were  fast  ripening  it  for  pillage 
and  slaughter  at  the  hands  of  the  heretical  north  — with  its 
revived  classicalism  and  pagan  predilections,  Christianity 
existing  only  as  a gorgeous,  hybrid  tyranny  and  aping  Peter 
with  the  bowels  of  Anthony,  venality,  sensuality,  and  hy- 
pocrisy every  where  rife;  at  a period  when  Pietro  Aretino* 
was  spewing  his  libellous  ribaldry,  filth,  and  nauseous  flat- 
tery to  the  edification  of  rulers  and  mingled  terror  and 
amusement  of  the  clergy,  levying  black-mail  on  all  sides,  a 
nasty,  obscene  mind,  but  fragrant  to  this  age,  — a mind  fit- 
tingly satirized  by  Leonardo  in  a retaliatory  drawing  f for 

* “ At  this  epoch/’  so  says  Ranke,  History  of  the  Popes,  chap.  2,  sec.  3,  “ it 
was  considered  the  mark  of  high  breeding  in  Rome  to  call  the  principles  of 
Christianity  in  question,  and  hardly  a priest  came  back  from  saying  mass  with- 
out uttering  outrageous  words  in  denial  of  its  reality.”  Speaking  of  Cardinal 
Petrucci  and  a virtuous  young  lady  he  was  striving  to  debauch,  Mariotti,  in 
his  Italy,  vol.  ii.  page  148,  remarks  of  the  reign  of  Leo  X.,  “ So  arduous  was 
it  then  for  unprotected  virtue  to  find  shelter  against  enterprising  libertinism 
that,  unable  otherwise  to  protect  herself  from  the  prelate’s  importunities,  she 
destroyed  herself  by  poison.”  The  most  obscene  and  blasphemous  jest-book 
of  any  epoch,  the  Facetiae  of  Bracciolini,  was  the  work  of  a priest,  the  con- 
fidential secretary  of  contemporary  popes,  whose  children  were  publicly  ac- 
knowledged. 

t In  the  possession  of  Professor  Tossoni,  Florence.  Aretino  was  born  in 
1492.  He  was  a favorite  of  Gritti,  Doge  of  Venice  in  1527.  Charles  V. 
admitted  him  to  his  closest  intimacy,  gave  him  a gold  necklace,  offered  to 
make  him  a knight,  and  bestowed  upon  him  a pension.  Francis  I.  sent  him 
costly  presents  ; as  also  did  Henry  VIII.  of  England.  He  was  knighted  by 


RAPHAEL. 


451 


a gratuitous  infamy  put  upon  him  by  Aretino,  out  of  cer- 
tain members  of  the  human  body  so  as  to  give  the  poet’s 
likeness  without  obtrusive  indecency,  but  which  on  closer 
inspection  discloses  in  symbolical  shapes  the  satyr-like  char- 
acter of  Aretino; — in  such  an  atmosphere  it  should  cre- 
ate less  surprise  that  Raphael  in  a few  designs  and  paint- 
ings manifested  its  proclivities,  than  that  he  escaped  so 
thoroughly  its  degradation.  There  also  existed  true  relig- 
ion, learning,  and  refinement.  They  found  a home  in  the 
distinguished  circle  that  at  a subsequent  period  gathered 
around  Vittoria  Colonna.  Her  piety  was  ever  an  em- 
phatic protest  against  the  prevalent  tone  of  society.  Ra- 
phael’s temperament  drew  him  nearer  to  the  fashionable 
class,  mere  pleasurists  and  courtiers,  among  whom,  how- 
ever, there  were  men  of  large  attainments,  by  whose  stores 
of  knowledge  he  profited.  Becoming  himself  a cour- 
tier of  the  nobler  sort,  he  lived  amidst  flattery,  seductions, 
and  vice,  without  other  taint  than  — as  times  were  — a 
venial  attachment  to  the  woman  immortalized  by  his  pen- 
cil; she,  who  a century  later,  came  to  be  popularly  known 
as  the  “ Fornarina,”  or  baker’s  daughter.  She  was  of  the 
legitimate  Roman  type  of  beauty,  dark-tinted,  luscious,  and 
richly  endowed  with  substantial  charms,  brimful  of  passion, 
with  not  much  to  recommend  her  features  in  an  intellectual 
point  of  view,  although  from  Raphael’s  constancy  and  his 
handsome  provision  for  her  in  his  will,  when,  at  the  point  of 

Pope  Julius  III.,  who  embraced  and  kissed  him  before  his  court,  giving  him 
the  more  substantial  token  of  his  favor  in  one  thousand  crowns.  His  audacity 
led  him  to  apply  for  a cardinal’s  hat,  which,  though  he  was  called  the  “ divine,” 
was  rather  too  much  for  even  the  papal  court  to  submit  to.  Aretino  made  a 
characteristic  end  of  his  scandalous  life  in  1559,  dying  in  a fit  of  laughter  at 
hearing  of  the  infamies  of  his  sisters.  His  portrait  by  Titian  is  in  the  Pitti ; a 
wonderful  treatment  in  color  of  a disgusting  physiognomy.  Ariosto  calls  him 
“ the  scourge  of  princes.”  He  was  rather  their  sordid  adulator,  confessing 
himself  to  have  received  from  them  twenty -five  thousand  scudi  within  eighteen 
years  as  hush-money  for  his  infamous  pen. 


4,52 


RAPHAEL. 


death,  he  was  prevailed  upon  by  his  spiritual  advisers  to  send 
her  out  of  his  house,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  his  mistress 
had  other  than  merely  sensual  attractions  for  him.  Nothing 
has  been  said  to  her  disadvantage  even  by  the  garrulous 
Vasari,  whose  sole  charge  is  that  she  excited  so  immoderate 
a love  in  Raphael  as  to  distract  his  attention  from  the  fres- 
coes ordered  by  Agostino  Chigi  for  his  villa,  now  known 
as  the  Farnesina,  Such  may  have  been  the  case  in  the 
excitement  of  a first  attachment,  though,  with  Passavant, 
we  may  not  believe  that  Chigi  was  unable  to  prevail  upon 
him  to  complete  those  beautiful  paintings  until  he  had, 
“ after  much  difficulty” — an  acknowledgment,  creditable 
to  her  delicacy — prevailed  upon  the  lady  to  install  herself 
in  an  apartment  adjoining  that  in  which  Raphael  worked. 
A dubious  remedy,  certainly,  under  the  circumstances. 

Raphael,  so  far  as  is  known,  was  not  capricious  in  love, 
and  formed  no  permanent  attachments  among  the  noble 
ladies  by  whom  he  was  surrounded  and  petted.  Disposed 
to  the  gentler  affections,  he  greatly  enjoyed  their  society, 
rendering  the  sex  in  general  honorable  and  gallant  atten- 
tion. It  was  the  fashion  of  the  city  in  which  celibacy  is 
exalted  into  a virtue,  to  look  with  complacence  on  irregular 
connections  like  his.  Before  he  was  dying,  it  may  be 
doubted  if  he  ever  heard  a voice  in  reprobation.  When 
urged  by  Cardinal  Bibiena  to  marry  his  niece,  he  adroitly 
parried  the  subject  for  several  years.  His  mistress  must 
have  had  some  influence  in  his  desire  to  escape  matrimony, 
however  flattering  in. rank.  It  is  supposed  that  he. also 
had  expectations  of  a cardinal’s  hat  himself,  as  one  had  been 
indirectly  promised  him  by  Leo  X.,  in  consideration  of 
services  rendered  and  of  moneys  due  him  by  the  pontifical 
government.  After  waiting  the  assigned  time  for  post- 
poning the  nuptial  project,  Babiena  again  urged  it  upon 


RAPHAEL. 


453 


him,  and  with  so  much  instance  as  to  extort  a dubious  as- 
sent. A difficulty  in  saying  “ No  ” beset  Raphael.  The 
marriage  went  no  further  than  the  bethrothal,  much  no 
doubt  to  the  content  of  the  Fornarina,  the  lady  Maria  Bi- 
biena  dying  before  its  consummation. 

From  the  first,  Raphael’s  constitution  was  extremely 
delicate.  His  spirit  was  ever  taxing  it  beyond  its  capacity 
of  endurance.  Long  illnesses  he  did  not  have.  But  his  life 
hung  always  upon  a frail  thread,  which  at  any  moment 
undue  exertion  or  exposure  might  rupture.  The  Roman 
climate,  stimulating  to  the  mental  and  insidious  in  its  at- 
tacks upon  the  physical  system,  was  calculated  to  shorten 
an  existence  which  for  health  needed  the  virtuous  repose 
and  invigorating  air  of  its  Umbrian  hills.  Ambition  to  con- 
tinue to  excel,  and  a desire  to  execute  all  that  was  required 
of  him,  added  to  exposure  to  malaria  in  the  infected  dis- 
tricts of  Rome,  where  he  was  prosecuting  his  studies  into 
the  antiquities  and  topography  of  the  ancient  city,  and 
particularly  a chill  received  one  day  while  heated,  in  stand- 
ing talking  with  the  Pope  about  the  progress  of  St.  Peter’s, 
in  one  of  the  cold  halls  of  the  Vatican,  developed  a fever, 
increased,  so  it  is  said,  by  the  injudicious  treatment  of  his 
physicians,  which  in  a few  days  carried  him  off.  His  death 
happened  on  Good  Friday,  the  7 th  of  April,  1520,  in  his 
thirty-seventh  year,  having  previously  confessed  and  re- 
ceived the  sacraments.  Vasari  pleasantly  adds,  “ As  he 
embellished  the  world  by  his  talents  while  on  earth,  so  it 
is  to  be  believed  that  his  soul  is  now  adorning  heaven. ” 

The  versatile  character  of  Raphael  is  shown  by  the 
variety  of  his  friends  and  the  universal  range  of  his  art. 
His  easy-flowing  sympathies  and  happy  faculty  of  adapta- 
tion made  him  at  home  wherever  he  went.  Hence,  he 
found  happiness  in  mystic,  peaceful  Umbria,  its  saintly 


454 


RAPHAEL. 


associations,  and  deep  repose.  In  Florence,  with  equal 
satisfaction  and  sincerity  he  loved  Fra  Bartolomeo  and 
Ridolfo  Ghirlandajo ; was  alike  familiar  with  its  demo- 
cratic, turbulent  citizens,  its  luxurious  aristocrats,  and  re- 
vered the  memory  of  the  ascetic  Savonarola.  At  Rome, 
his  favorite  was  Julio  Romano,  whose  habits  and  tastes  were 
quite  the  reverse  of  his  previous  associations,  while  he  con- 
tinued on  equally  good  terms  with  popes  that  differed  so 
widely  in  character  as  Julius  II.  and  Leo  X. 

This  plasticity  was  not  weakness,  but  breadth  of  temper- 
ament. Michel  Angelo’s  unyielding  character  toned  all  his 
works.  His  habits  and  thoughts,  intensely  personal,  re- 
fused to  mingle  in  the  ordinary  currents  of  life.  Leonardo 
never  projected  himself  into  his  art.  He  created  and  en- 
dowed it  by  an  abstract  mental  operation  based  upon  the 
facts  of  nature.  Hence,  his  chief  demand  upon  the  specta- 
tor is  for  intellectual  admiration.  Michel  Angelo,  on  the 
contrary,  always  excites  feeling  of  some  kind ; almost  as 
frequently  antipathy  as  awe.  Indeed,  their  works  beget 
in  us  similar  emotions  to  those  which  as  men  they  gave 
rise  to  among  their  contemporaries.  But  in  the  works  of 
no  other  artist  does  there  shine  forth  a more  beautiful  indi- 
viduality, towards  which  our  sympathies  irresistibly  flow, 
than  in  those  of  Raphael.  His  genius  has  a universal 
language.  His  feeling  goes  home  to  every  heart.  Whence 
this  mysterious,  genial  charm  that  so  lovingly  affects  all 
humanity  ? 

It  is  his  predominating  sensuousness,  based,  as  was  the 
corresponding  animating  principle  of  Greek  art,  upon  a nice 
perception  of  grace,  beauty,  and  joy  in  life.  His  emotional 
nature  was  goodness  itself.  Among  his  contemporaries, 
as  has  already  been  noted,  his  figure  and  countenance  were 
so  refined  by  the  dominance  of  a beautiful  spirit  as  to  sug- 


RAPHAEL. 


4 55 


gest,  in  accordance  with  their  religious  or  classical  taste, 
either  the  angelic  or  the  Apollo-like  man.  His  attraction, 
therefore,  is  in  his  perfect  conception  and  manifestation  of 
sensuous  beauty,  elevated  and  purified  by  the  Christian 
idea,  when  he  gave  play  to  it,  far  above  the  range  of  clas- 
sicalism,  but  at  his  option  full  of  the  feeling  of  its  best 
pagan  estate,  at  will  rendering  to  Caesar  the  things  that 
are  Caesar’s,  and  to  God  the  things  that  are  His.  No 
other  has  ever  possessed  the  intellectual,  sentimental,  and 
sensuous  elements  of  art  in  an  equally  sensitive,  well-bal- 
anced, and  cultivated  degree.  Nature  endowed  him  with 
its  poetry,  observation  with  its  knowledge,  and  religion 
with  its  spirituality. 

Raphael’s  organization  imperatively  demanded  Beauty 
in  form  and  spirit.  Our  enjoyment  of  his  works  is  chiefly 
found  in  his  harmonious  union  of  the  two,  in  action  or 
repose,  whether  the  topic  be  profane  or  religious,  historical 
or  imaginative.  Whatever  deficiencies  may  exist,  he  casts 
his  magic  spell  of  grace  over  us,  so  that  we  pass  them 
by.  Of  a keenly  susceptible,  emotional  nature,  he  in- 
vests Ins  creations  with  vivid  and  vivacious  sentiment, 
if  not  always  pure  in  the  sense  of  virtue,  always  appro- 
priate to  the  chosen  motive.  He  is  equally  capable,  as 
in  the  “ Madonna  del  Sisto,”  of  elevating  womanhood  to 
its  most  mystic  and  divine  sense,  and,  as  in  his  subjects 
taken  from  pagan  mythology,  of  infusing  them  with  the 
fullest  measure  of  a sensuous  or  sensual  spirit,  according 
to  their  meaning.  Prudery  would  look  aghast  at  some 
of  his  renderings  of  scenes  on  pagan  Olympus.  Some- 
times the  subject  in  its  literalness  is  unmentionable.  While 
the  classical  fever  was  upon  him  he  was  as  seductive  in 
voluptuous  details,  as  he  was  chaste  in  his  holy  women  when 
painting  under  the  influence  of  religious  ideas.  Whatever 


456 


RAPHAEL. 


he  did,  he  filled  it  to  overflowing  with  its  legitimate  feeling. 
Even  in  his  immodesty  there  is  a delicacy  which  keeps 
it  apart  from  the  refined  lasciviousness  of  Correggio  or 
the  coarser  passion  of  Rubens,  and  the  strong,  amorous 
ecstasy  which  Titian,  Julio  Romano,  and  Paul  Veronese 
frequently  put  into  their  sensualities.*  Better  it  would 
have  been  for  Raphael’s  reputation  had  he  never  employed 
his  pencil  after  this  manner.  But  he  was  sometimes  tempt- 
ed to  gratify  licentious  patrons,  who  specially  delighted  in 
pagan  imagery  of  the  passions  and  in  prurient  fancies. 
The  nude  was  his  most  charming  field  of  display  of  grace 
of  outline  and  the  language  of  sensuous  sentiment.  And 
of  the  nude  he  was,  if  possible,  more  happy  in  the  sportive 
innocence  of  infancy,  of  baby  angels  or  delightsome  genii, 
to  whose  grace  of  form  was  added  an  unfathomable  spirit- 
uality of  expression,  than  even  in  the  matured  charms  of 
womanhood  or  the  robust  vigor  of  manhood.  Christian  art 
in  great  degree  forbade  the  exercise  of  his  genius  in  this 
way.  Antique  art  invited  it.  Hence  it  was  that  the  same 
mind  that  created  the  Bible  histories  of  the  Vatican  needed 


* As  nearly  all  of  this  class  of  pictures,  once  more  common  than  people 
would  now  credit,  are  carefully  screened  from  the  public  eye,  and  wisely  too, 
we  shall  not  here  quote  either  their  localities  or  the  books  of  engravings  in 
which  they  are  preserved.  Let  it  suffice  that  we  do  not  exaggerate  in 
the  particular  characteristics  of  each  artist.  At  the  same  time  the  reader 
must  beware  of  judging  these  artists  as  vulgar  sensualists.  They  were 
magnificent  in  their  passions,  as  they  were  great,  facile,  and  fertile  in  their 
invention  generally,  particularly  the  stately  Venetians,  whose  noblest  quali- 
ties were  always  concentrated  on  their  religious  compositions.  But  all  were 
men  of  such  expanded  and  universal  power,  — Julio  not  ranking  with  the 
others,  — with  so  noble  a balance  of  faculties,  that  whatever  they  created  shone 
with  their  soul-fire.  Even  those  emotions  of  nature,  which  with  the  common 
mind  are  stained  with  uneradicable  grossness  or  a perverted  sense  of  shame 
and  sin,  are  by  their  pencils  elevated  into  a certain  spiritual  grandeur,  such 
as  the  Greeks  sought  to  bestow  upon  their  deities,  showing  the  heroic  aspect 
of  physical  needs,  and  demonstrating  in  their  splendid  way,  that,  truly  under- 
stood, God  has  made  nothing  unclean.  The  soil  comes  from  man’s  heart  — 
not  from  His  hand. 


RAPHAEL. 


45J 


only  an  opportunity  to  display  its  creative  power  in  an 
altogether  different  direction.  This  was  given  by  Agostino 
Chigi  for  the  decorations  of  his  sumptuous  palace.  Among 
other  classical  subjects,  Raphael  painted  the  history  of 
“ Psyche  and  Love.”  A glance  at  the  “ Nights  of  Love,” 
“Jupiter  embracing  Love,”  and  the  “Conclusion  of  the 
History,”  suffices  to  show  his  refined,  fertile,  and  graphic 
sensualism.  In  others  of  the  series,  with  less  of  animal 
passion  there  is  a charming  play  of  fancy  and  variety  of 
invention.  When  his  conception  of  the  subject  demanded 
it,  in  illustrations  of  sacred  history,  as  in  his  “ Lot  and 
Daughters,”  he  transfuses  it  with  the  very  spirit  of  fasci- 
nating voluptuousness  and  amorous  dalliance,  thus  render- 
ing the  spectacle  more  vivid  than  edifying. 

Raphael  viewed  art  neither  from  the  focus  of  a devotional 
nor  sensualized  mind,  but  in  its  complete  aesthetic  light.  A 
subject  given,  his  aim  was  to  render  its  highest  expression, 
in  harmony  with  the  inspiring  motive.  Although  he  con- 
scientiously studied  nature  for  details  of  form,  color,  and 
general  expression,  yet  he  says  in  a letter  to  Baldassare 
Castiglione,  his  customary  finesse  of  courtesy  blending  a 
compliment  with  his  opinion,  “ To  paint  a figure  truly  beau- 
tiful, it  might  be  necessary  that  I should  see  many  beautiful 
forms,  with  the  further  provision  that  you  should  yourself 
be  near  to  select  the  best ; but  seeing  that  good  judges  and 
beautiful  women  are  scarce,  I avail  myself  of  certain  ideas 
which  come  into  my  mind.”  A truly  modest  avowal  of  an 
inexhaustible  creative  power ! But  it  is  a disclosure  of  his 
mental  method.  He  looked  to  nature  for  hints  ; assimi- 
lated knowledge  from  every  source,  but  drew  from  within 
himself  that  subtle  idealization  which  captivates  the  world. 

Raphael’s  universalism  resolves  itself  into  three  distinct 
manners.  The  primary  was  the  religious,  in  which  he  was 


458 


RAPHAEL. 


influenced  both  by  the  sentiments  and  methods  of  the  pu- 
rists. He  used  gold,  finished  carefully,  sought  spirituality, 
and  to  some  extent  coerced  his  imagination  into  the  con- 
ventional imagery  of  the  Umbrian  school.  His  composi- 
tions of  this  period  are  less  known  than  his  later.  But 
there  is  about  them  an  indescribable  tenderness  and  holiness 
and  a picturesque  conception  of  celestial  belongings,  with 
a purity  of  fancy  and  elevation  of  sentiment,  which  prove 
that  the  boy,  for  he  can  scarcely  he  considered  a man  when 
many  of  these  were  done,  might  have  arrived  in  this  style 
to  the  highest  excellence,  had  he  not  so  early  been  divert- 
ed to  other  motives.  His  angels  and  archangels,  cherubs 
and  seraphs,  saints,  the  women  especially,  and  Madonnas, 
whether  in  rapt  contemplation  or  the  sweetness  of  virginal 
purity,  in  glorified  repose  on  the  clouds  of  heaven,  blessing 
the  sphere  they  have  left  by  the  influence  of  virtues  that 
descend  from  them  upon  it,  or  in  holy  contest  with  omni- 
present evil,  all  possess  an  interior  grace,  which  quickens 
the  soul  to  the  same  extent  that  their  beauty  of  form  and 
harmonious  action  delight  the  eye.  His  imaginative  com- 
positions in  general  hear  the  character  of  improvisation. 
They  exhibit  no  soul-subduing  signs  of  labor  — though  labor 
there  is,  but  seemingly  devoid  of  Eden’s  curse.  As  it 
were,  they  are  art-less  ’ the  spontaneous  creations  of  a beau- 
tiful will  that  has  only  to  utter  66  Let  them  be,”  and  they 
ARE.  And  this  is  the  highest  quality  of  all  art. 

But  Raphael  had  no  celestial  exemption  from  the  law  of 
Progress ; namely,  Study.  His  effects  are  the  result  of 
profound  knowledge,  keen  sensibility,  and  unwearied  appli- 
cation. His  advantages  lay  in  his  inborn  feeling  for  beau- 
ty, varied  and  facile  invention,  quick  absorption,  and  grace- 
ful recasting  in  his  own  mind  of  the  mental  wealth  of 
others.  In  his  earlier  designs  we  perceive  timidity,  con- 


RAPHAEL. 


459 


straint,  and  defects  of  design,  and  an  occasional  tendency 
to  mannerism,  when  overpersuaded  by  the  works  of  others. 
The  “Madonna  del  Baldacchino,”  otherwise  a grand  and 
harmonious  composition,  suitable  to  devotional  decoration, 
wholly  his  only  in  design,  is  weak  and  almost  insipid  in 
some  of  the  heads  and  attitudes.  But,  wherever  weak,  there 
is  still  perceptible  the  finer  elements  of  soul  struggling  as 
it  were  for  richer  issue.  Raphael  was  never  hasty,  care- 
less, nor  trifling,  like  Bazzi.  Whatever  he  undertook,  it 
received  his  best  at  the  time.  Incongruous  ornamentation, 
jarring  accessories,  or  anything  not  strictly  in  unity  with 
the  motive,  his  taste  rejected,  unless  forced  upon  it  by 
exigencies  he  could  not  control.  His  classical  subjects 
breathe  the  atmosphere  of  antiquity.  They  are  not  servile 
reproductions  of  the  past,  but  the  re-incarnations  of  a sym- 
pathetic mind  of  the  poetry  of  a defunct  faith.  In  a letter 
to  a friend,  he  says,  “ I would  fain  resuscitate  the  forms  of 
antiquity.”  Towards  the  Gothic  he  had  scanty  desire. 
His  mature  sentiment  was  deeply  classical.  He  conceives 
“ amorina  ” in  the  true  feeling  of  the  antique.  They  do 
not  excel,  however,  the  graceful  animation  and  beauty  of 
the  cupids  and  genii  which  adorned  the  fashionable  resi- 
dences at  Herculaneum  in  the  Augustan  age.*  But  the 
marvel  is,  that  he  could  rival  the  offspring  of  imaginations 
steeped  in  the  faith  of  their  realism.  His  art  recast  the 
Past.  No  doubt  the  freer  forms  of  sensuous  beauty 
ripened  in  the  atmosphere  of  classic  art  come  nearer  to 
his  own  riper  taste  than  the  more  conventual  creations  of 
strictly  Christian  feeling.  Much  of  his  decorative  work  of 
this  character  was  done  by  his  pupils  from  his  designs. 
The  “ Galatea  ” of  the  Farnesina  is  mainly  his  own.  What 

* For  examples  of  these  spirited  and  graceful  forms,  see  Le  Pitture  Antiche 
d’  Ercolano.  Naples,  1762.  Yol.  iii.  p.  171,  et  seq. 


460 


RAPHAEL. 


can  excel  the  joyous,  sportive  consciousness  of  being,  the 
morning  glow  of  loveliness,  the  animation  of  movement, 
the  purity  and  sweetness  of  this  composition,  with  its  joy- 
ous tritons  and  nymphs  escorting  the  Queen  of  Beauty, 
drawn  by  her  foam-fed  steeds  over  the  placid  billows  ! His 
reproductions  of  the  grotesques  and  arabesques  of  the  Em- 
pire are  equally  beautiful  and  spirited.  Glancing  at  the 
fragments  of  the  old  in  the  sepulchral  gloom  of  the  subter- 
ranean baths  of  Titus,  without  plagiary,  Raphael  evoked  on 
the  instant  a similar  style  of  ornamentation  in  all  the  free- 
dom and  novelty  of  an  original  thought. 

Raphael’s  classical  designs  belong  to  his  third  and  last 
manner,  derived  from  his  associations  with  the  modern 
taste  and  the  antiquities  of  Rome,  to  which  city  Julius  II. 
had  invited  him  in  1508,  he  being  then  in  his  twenty-fifth 
year.  Previous  to  this  he  had  painted  one  mythological 
subject,  that  of  the  “ Three  Graces,”  which  seems  to  have 
been  suggested  to  him  by  the  antique  group  of  sculpture 
of  the  same  subject  now  in  the  Academy  at  Siena.  This 
picture  has,  however,  an  Umbrian  flavor  of  landscape  still 
lingering  upon  it.  With  the  exception  of  their  execution, 
which  corresponds  to  the  best  period  of  his  technical  power, 
there  is  much  in  the  naive  beauty  and  freshness  of  feeling 
of  his  designs  derived  from  the  antique  to  recall  his  earlier 
religious  art,  although  the  motives  originating  each  are  so 
distinct.  His  boy  angels  are  every  whit  as  successful  as 
his  cupids ; his  Virgin  is  as  perfect  a being  in  her  way  as 
his  Venus,  and  he  never  confuses  the  elements  of  either 
class  of  conceptions.  To  every  ideal  type  of  character,  in 
its  special  variety  in  unity,  Raphael  is  unimpeachably  loyal. 
Neither  Rubens,  Rembrandt,  Correggio,  nor  even  Titian, 
stands  beside  him  in  this  lofty  attribute.  They  intermingle 
the  classical,  sacred,  and  profane,  in  their  attempts  at  por- 


RAPHAEL. 


461 


traying  their  forms,  after  a maimer  which  indicates  pov- 
erty of  spiritual  conception.  Raphael  alone,  on  all  oc- 
casions, adheres  perfectly  to  all  the  proprieties  of  religious 
motives  and  pure  instincts  of  the  heart.  Who  so  success- 
ful in  the  innocence  and  artlessness  of  infancy ; the  purity 
and  tenderness  of  maternity;  virginal  chastity,  and  the  mys- 
tic forebodings  of  the  atoning  sacrifice  in  the  divine  mother 
and  son  ; often  called  to  repeat  the  same  topic,  yet  never 
repeating  himself!  This  matchless  variety  is  his  special 
triumph.  Each  composition  is  a new  phase  of  action  and 
emotion.  The  Madonna  was  the  object  of  his  particular 
devotion.  How  much  of  that  which  is  purest  and  most 
sanctified  in  womanhood  he  may  have  derived  from  his 
recollections  of  that  early-lost  mother  the  world  can  never 
know ; but  there  was  evidently  an  adored  and  faultless 
image  cherished  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  his  heart ; for 
that  domestic  love  which  beams  upon  us  from  his  Holy 
Families  could  scarcely  have  existed  in  him  without  a joy 
and  peace  in  his  own  infancy. 

Raphael  is  always  spiritual,  though  in  its  religious  sense 
he  never  attains  the  ethereality  of  Fra  Angelico.  His  holy 
figures  are  of  earth,  substantial,  well  modelled,  and  trans- 
ported in  all  their  materiality  of  flesh  to  the  upper  spheres, 
illumined  by  celestial  light,  but  not  yet  born  anew  of  it. 
They  have  weight  and  solidity,  and  their  draperies  are  ac- 
tual clothing,  suggesting  the  physical  form  beneath.  The 
most  exalted  of  the  purists  were  more  successful  than  he  in 
putting  off  the  corruptible  and  putting  on  the  incorruptible, 
harmonizing  both  features  and  drapery  in  their  celestialities 
more  according  to  the  conditions  of  heavenly  being,  in  the 
highest  sense  of  the  imagination.  His  earliest  pictures,  in 
tempera,  were  purer,  and  clearer  in  tones  than  his  later. 
As  the  artistic  gradually  outgrew  the  religious  sentiment, 


462 


RAPHAEL. 


he  gave  himself  up  more  to  the  dexterities  of  light  and 
shade,  commingling  of  colors  to  strengthen  effects,  and  at- 
tempts to  aggrandize  his  style,  using  darker  tints,  which 
time,  after  the  manner  it  usually  treats  oils,  has  greatly 
deepened,  to  the  irreparable  loss  of  their  primitive  transpar- 
ency and  delicacy.  Excessive  attention  to  the  mechanism 
of  art,  in  him,  as  with  every  other  artist,  weakened  its 
loftier  significance.  His  last  picture,  the  “ Transfigura- 
tion,” has  become  dry  and  heavy,  on  account  of  his  experi- 
mentative  innovations  on  his  primitive  method  of  coloring, 
while  in  point  of  religious  sentiment,  though  intended  for  his 
masterpiece,  it  is  almost  null.  The  entire  composition  is 
artificial,  failing  in  the  historical  elements  of  the  scene, 
incongruous  in  its  intermingling  of  sixteenth  century  monks 
and  a mixed  crowd  of  men  and  women  as  witnesses  of  a 
spectacle  seen  only  by  Peter,  John,  and  James,  and  incor- 
porating in  it  the  incident  of  the  maniac  boy,  which  hap- 
pened 66  on  the  next  day,  when  they  were  come  down 
from  the  hill.”  In  reality  it  is  two  pictures  of  distinct 
events  and  periods  of  time,  objectionable  from  its  forced 
perspective,  and  so  confused  in  its  religious  meaning  that 
it  requires  study  and  explanation  to  correctly  interpret 
it.  True,  its  masterly  details  are  worthy  of  Raphael.  But 
in  judging  it  from  the  earlier  religious  point  of  view,  in 
which  much  was  pardoned  to  art  if  the  sentiment  was  clear 
and  impressive,  or  from  its  more  proper  position,  that  of 
the  work  of  the  world’s  greatest  painter  in  the  matu- 
rity of  his  knowledge,  when  he  most  rigidly  observed  aes- 
thetic laws,  — in  either  aspect  it  disappoints.  The  motive, 
however,  in  the  case  of  the  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit  point- 
ing to  the  transfigured  Saviour  in  the  clouds  of  heaven  as 
the  only  source  of  help,  is  truly  noble.  It  is  interesting  to 
compare  the  designs  for  this  celebrated  work  with  the  fin- 


RAPHAEL. 


463 


ished  picture.  In  the  former  the  figures  of  the  several 
groups  above  and  below  are  nude,  vigorously  drawn  and 
composed,  awaiting  their  drapery.  Moses  and  Elias  on 
either  side  of  Christ,  all  three  posing  in  the  heavens, 
with  their  extremities  in  somewhat  violent  movement,  are 
in  a state  of  nature,  with  each  anatomical  detail  given  with 
all  the  truthful  precision  of  the  great  master  of  design. 
While  showing  his  conscientious  study  and  how  he  ar- 
rived at  giving  to  his  drapery  such  perfect  adaptation  of 
character  to  the  form  and  idea,  these  studies  have  a droll 
effect  upon  the  sanctities  of  the  composition.  It  is  like  a 
look  behind  the  scenes  of  a theatre. 

Raphael’s  second  manner,  the  intermediate  between  the 
Umbrian  and  Roman,  had  for  its  foundation  the  naturalism 
of  the  Florentine  school.  It  began  about  1504,  and  con- 
tinued in  vogue  with  him  after  his  arrival  at  Rome.  Before 
leaving  Florence  he  was  so  well  satisfied  with  his  prog- 
ress as  to  wish  to  contest  the  laurels  of  painting  with  the 
only  artists  from  whom  he  had  anything  to  fear,  Leonardo 
and  Buonarotti,  by  a rival  composition  to  he  placed  along- 
side of  theirs  in  the  Palazzo  Vecchio.  To  this  effect  he  was 
making  interest  with  the  gonfaloniere  when  summoned  to 
Rome  to  paint  the  state  apartments  of  the  Vatican.  Al- 
though disappointed  in  the  direct  competition  he  challenged, 
this  new  field  afforded  him  the  amplest  scope  for  contesting 
their  superiority.  More  fortunate  than  they,  while  their 
cartoons  that  fired  his  ambition  have  perished,  his  works 
remain  to  this  day.  There  is  no  evidence  of  any  personal 
intercourse  between  Leonardo  and  Raphael,  but  there  is 
more  affinity  of  style  between  them,  and  also  the  manner  and 
motives  of  Masaccio,  than  between  him  and  Michel  Angelo. 
He  carried  to  Rome  many  graceful  reminiscences  of  the 
best  Florentines,  to  be  incorporated  into  his  own  composi- 


464 


RAPHAEL. 


tions,  especially  the  “Ascending  Saviour  ” of  an  unknown 
artist,  now  a ruined  fresco  in  an  outbuilding  attached  to  the 
church  of  San  Miniato,  but  which  neither  in  expression  nor 
movement  is  improved  in  his  “ Transfiguration.” 

Kugler  gives  a detailed  criticism  of  the  well-known  paint- 
ings of  the  Stanze  of  the  Vatican.  We  have  space  only 
to  refer  to  their  general  character.  In  them  Raphael 
broadly  and  forcibly  develops  his  invention  and  powers  of 
execution,  ranging  through  both  with  marvellous  freedom, 
ingenuity,  strength,  and  grace,  saving  a few  drawbacks  in 
certain  figures  and  certain  licenses  of  thought,  which,  how- 
ever, show  his  daring.  They  combine  the  allegorical,  his- 
torical, ideal,  individualistic,  classical,  and  religious  elements 
in  copious  variety  of  naturalistic  and  poetical  treatment, 
profound  thought,  and  devotional  feeling,  with  a fertility 
and  richness  of  fancy  and  imagination  and  a complete  sym- 
pathy with  his  diversified  topics,  unequalled,  especially  when 
his  youth  is  considered,  in  the  history  of  painting. 

Raphael  is  akin  to  Giotto  in  his  rare  faculty  of  inter- 
penetrating his  subject  with  soul-like  expression,  warm 
from  his  own  exuberant  nature,  and  vital  with  those  emo- 
tions that  give  it  appropriate  variety.  He  perfected  what 
Masaccio  began  in  historical  art,  and  excepting  the  match- 
less spirituality  of  Fra  Angelico,  he  centred  in  himself  and 
carried  out  to  their  fullest  development,  the  varied  aims  and 
motives  of  the  several  branches  of  Etruscan  painting.  Leo- 
nardo was  more  scientifically  exact.  Michel  Angelo  ex- 
celled in  intensity  and  grandeur.  But  apart  from  these 
great  artists,  he  stands  the  highest  even  in  these  qualities. 
His  idealization  of  the  human  figure  escapes  the  approach 
to  affectation,  in  the  females,  of  the  one,  and  the  muscular  ex- 
aggeration of  the  other.  At  the  same  time,  he  seldom  soars 
to  the  supernatural.  But  his  “Ezekiel”  and  “Heliodorus” 


RAPHAEL. 


465 


evince  his  rare  capacity  for  the  sublime.  The  chief  secret 
of  his  success  lies  in  his  wonderful  flow  of  lines.  They 
adjust  themselves  to  his  thoughts  with  astonishing  grace 
and  spontaneity.  Apart  from  the  figure,  his  drapery  is  not 
only  a thing  of  beauty  but  suggests  the  idiosyncrasy  of  its 
object.  Character  permeates  it.  His  symmetrical  grouping 
is  classical  in  its  unity  and  harmony,  and  although,  as  his 
vigorous  portraits  show,  the  Etruscan  element  of  individu- 
alism was  strong  upon  him,  yet  his  delight  was  rather  in 
the  principles  of  Grecian  idealization.  Whatever  he  copies 
is  thoroughly  naturalistic.  Whenever  he  creates,  he  mani- 
fests a classical  regard  for  grace,  dignity,  and  beauty.  It 
would  require  an  infinitude  of  observations  to  do  even  scant 
justice  to  the  matchless  variety  and  power  of  his  genius. 
There  is  meaning  in  his  every  line,  motion,  and  feature. 
His  power  over  sentiment  was  wonderful.  In  hue, 
compared  with  the  Venetians,  he  appears  dry  and  almost 
sombre,  especially  in  many  of  his  later  works ; but  some 
of  his  frescoes  and  easel  pictures  are  richly  and  effect- 
ively colored.  The  subjects  by  which  he  is  most  popular- 
ly known  are  his  Holy  Families.  Beautiful  and  varied 
as  they  are,  they  but  partially  attest  his  genius.  Without 
following  him  through  his  entire  range  of  composition  it 
is  impossible  to  get  an  adequate  conception  of  it.  Judged 
by  the  amount  and  variety  of  his  labors,  crowded  into  less 
than  twenty  years,  of  the  highest  and  purest  art,  he  ranks 
above  all  other  painters.  The  good  fortune  that  attended 
him  during  life  has  continued  to  operate  to  preserve  his 
works,  and  time  constantly  strengthens  his  reputation. 
The  waves  even  respected  his  celebrated  “ Lo  Spasimo,” 
now  at  Madrid,  alone  of  the  crew  and  merchandise  of  a 
wrecked  vessel,  in  which  it  had  been  freighted  for  Sicily, 
and  bore  it  safely  to  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  of  Genoa, 
30 


466 


RAPHAEL. 


whence  it  was  only  recovered  at  the  cost  of  a large  salvage 
and  powerful  interest.  Every  authentic  fragment  or  draw- 
ing of  his  is  now  held  as  a priceless  relic.  Considerable 
confusion  has  arisen  in  public  collections  from  too  hastily 
attributing  to  his  hands  the  works  of  his  numerous  scholars 
from  his  designs.  Numbers  of  pictures  ascribed  to  him 
bear  only  partial  evidence  of  his  touch.  But  as  no  other 
artist  has  given  occasion  to  more  varied  and  learned  criti- 
cism, so  time  is  slowly  sifting  the  genuine  from  the  doubt- 
ful, and  securely  placing  Raphael  upon  the  artistic  eminence 
justly  his  due. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Other  Italian  Schools.  Scholars  of  Leonardo  and  Raphael.  Correggio.  The 
Decline  of  the  Florentine  School.  Extinction  of  Religious  Sentiment.  The 
new  Taste  of  the  Times.  Correggio’s  License.  Giovanni  di  S.  Giovan- 
ni’s indecorous  Fresco  at  Fiesole.  The  Eclectics  of  Bologna.  De  Brosses’s 
Opinion  of  Early  Masters.  French  and  English  public  Taste  of  the  last 
Century.  Object  in  reviewing  Christian  Painting.  Its  three  Aspects. 
First,  the  Theological,  its  Character.  Secondly,  the  Religious  and  its 
two  Branches.  Danger  of  undue  Reverence  for  the  Past.  Mistake  of 
Modern  Artists.  The  third  Aspect,  or  the  Naturalistic.  Its  Origin,  past 
and  present  Condition,  and  Promise.  Distinction  between  the  Catholic  and 
Protestant  Phases  of  Art.  Relative  Strength  and  Weakness.  Tendencies, 
Needs,  and  Results,  as  the  Fruit  of  their  Elementary  and  Fundamental  An- 
tagonisms. The  Future  of  Painting.  Its  Exaltation  inseparable  from  Reli- 
gion, as  in  past  Times.  Quality  of  its  future  Aspirations  and  Teachings. 
A limitless  Field  of  Invention  open  to  it.  Author’s  Parting  Wish. 


With  Raphael  our  present  scope  of  inquiry  closes.  It 
would  require  another  volume  to  trace  the  history  of  Tus- 
can painting  past  its  climax  through  its  degeneracy  to  its 
present  impotency.*  Beside  the  other  Italian  schools,  those 
of  Parma,  Mantua,  and  Ferrara,  the  Lombard,  Genoese, 
Bolognese,  Roman,  and  Neapolitan,  more  strongly  invite 
examination,  should  the  subject  be  continued  at  a future 
period.  Especially  are  some  of  them  rich  in  influences  de- 
rived from  the  three  great  Representative  artists  whose 
lives  we  have  just  scanned,  and  whose  chief  scholars  de- 
serve fuller  mention  than  simply  their  names.  Bernardino 


* An  unfinished  painting  by  Ussi,  “ The  Expulsion  of  the  Duke  of  Athens 
from  Florence,”  a large  historical  composition  of  much  merit,  is  indicative  of 
the  reawakening  of  artistic  as  well  as  of  political  life  in  Tuscany. 


468 


CORREGGIO. 


Luini’s  reputation  is  intimately  blended  with  Da  Vinci’s 
fame.  Their  works  have  often  been  confounded,  though 
he  lacks  the  scientific  strength  of  his  master,  while  possess- 
ing a vivacity,  tenderness,  and  graceful  dignity  peculiarly 
his  own.  His  feeling  is  more  poetical,  slightly  tempered 
with  religious  melancholy  and  a feminine  delicacy  of  touch 
and  sentiment.  Salai  (Andrea  Salaino),  Francesco  Melzi, 
and  Cesare  da  Sesto,  the  last  finally  adopting  the  Roman 
manner  of  Raphael,  are  the  chief  of  Leonardo’s  immediate 
scholars.  Beside  Julio  Romano,  Raphael’s  most  noted 
disciples  were  Perino  del  Vaga,  Gianfrancesco  Penni,  An- 
drea di  Salerno,  Timoteo  delle  Vite,  Benvenuto  Tisio 
(Garofolo),  Giovanni  da  Udine,  and  Pellegrino  da  Modena. 
Cotignola  of  Bologna,  a rare  and  meritorious  painter,  com- 
bined much  of  the  feeling  and  manner  both  of  Francia 
and  Raphael,  in  whose  school  he  studied.  Not  to  speak 
of  the  grave,  heroic  magnificence  of  the  Venetians,  a 
school  so  noble,  prolific,  and  rich  in  meaning  as  to  de- 
mand for  itself  a distinct  analysis,  nor  of  the  extravagant 
romanticism  and  blood-fed  naturalism  of  the  more  distin- 
guished Neapolitans,  Correggio’s  highly  wrought  sensuous- 
ness and  delicate  perception  of  the  romance  of  hue ; his  un- 
stinted richness  of  tints  and  lavish  labor,  his  sympathy  with 
the  actual  joy  of  being  and  the  exaltation  of  sense  above 
spirit ; his  peculiar  exaggerations  and  charms  of  style,  the 
spontaneous  growth  of  an  individuality  distinct  from  all  other 
artists,  rank  him  as  a Representative  painter,  demanding 
special  and  wary  investigation,  lest  his  very  faults  lead  rea- 
son captive.  It  is  a tempting  prospect  to  pursue  the  sub- 
ject through  its  varied  phases  of  thought  and  feeling  as 
indicated  above  ; but  more  than  enough,  we  fear,  has 
already  been  attempted  to  test  the  public  appetite  for  this 
sort  of  knowledge.  Besides,  thus  far  it  has  had  an  interest 


DECLINE  OF  TUSCAN  ART. 


469 


which  it  would  soon  cease  to  possess : for  it  is  more  de- 
lightsome to  follow  the  Advance  than  the  Decline  of  any 
form  of  civilization.  After  the  death  of  Tintoretto  in 
1594,  there  are  but  few  names  in  any  of  the  above  schools 
remarkable  for  other  than  specific  technical  excellences  or 
peculiarities  of  style.  They  imparted  to  painting1  no  new  mo- 
tives nor  did  they  equal  the  greatness  of  their  predecessors; 
though,  as  with  Caravaggio,  Salvator  Rosa,  Claude  Lor- 
raine, and  the  Poussins, — the  latter  though  French  by  birth, 
Italian  in  residence  and  inspiration, — -new  tastes  came  into 
vogue,  popularized  by  their  skilful  execution.  Leaving 
them  however  to  such  distinctions  as  they  merit,  we  return 
to  Tuscan  territory.  Here,  as  at  Rome  where  the  same 
sort  of  mongrel  priestly  and  princely  patronage  was  rife, 
the  decadence  not  only  of  high  art  but  genuine  art  of 
every  character  was  most  rapid.  Michel  Angelo  was 
the  last  of  the  great  Tuscans.  After  him  came  man- 
nerism and  poverty  of  invention,  bigness  succeeding  to 
greatness,  the  display  of  attitude  to  harmony  of  move- 
ment; — in  short,  faults  of  every  nature,  weakness,  cold- 
ness, and  thinness  of  color,  technical  errors  and  exaggera- 
tions, a prolific  crop  of  artistic  weeds,  covered  this  rich 
soil,  varied  but  not  redeemed  by  the  superficial  merits  of 
artists  like  Cristofano  Allori  (1577 — 16£1),  Cigoli  (4559— 
1613),  Jacobo  di  Ernpoli  (1 554-1 640),  Francesco  Furini 
(1604— 1646),  and  Giovanni  di  S.  Giovanni  (1590-1636), 
most  of  whom  were  clever  in  portraiture.  But  what  we 
have  particularly  to  note  is  the  utter  extinction  of  religious 
feeling,  and  with  it  a corresponding  debasement  in  manner 
and  composition.  Even  Vasari,  whose  life  and  whose  appre- 
ciation of  the  early  masters  were  unexceptionable,  is  one  of 
the  most  striking  examples  of  technical  degeneracy  and 
poverty  of  motives.  The  full-blown  Medicean  tyranny  of 


470 


DECLINE  OF  RELIGIOUS  SENTIMENT. 


church  and  state  had  sapped  alike  the  foundations  of  mo- 
rality and  intellect.  Cellini  gives  an  animated  account  of 
the  dissoluteness  and  violence  among-  his  contemporaries 
of  the  pencil  and  chisel,  their  unworthy  intrigues  and  the 
corresponding  social  peculiarities  of  this  epoch, — a period 
in  which  a successful  artist  had  ample  reason  to  dread  the 
dagger  or  poison  of  a rival.  His  personal  confessions  are 
not  the  most  transparent  of  the  shadows  he  paints  in  the  pic- 
tures of  his  times.  The  sentimental  and  superficial,  though 
clever,  Federigo  Baroccio  ( 1528-1 6 12),  who  had  a com- 
mission to  execute  in  the  Vatican,  was  obliged  to  fly  from 
Rome  on  account  of  an  attempt  to  poison  him  while  at 
work.  Other  instances  of  characteristic  crime  have  already 
been  related.  Painting  in  Florence  was  now  represented 
by  the  prolific  Agnolo  Bronzino,  a pupil  of  Pontormo,  and 
his  nephew  Alessandro  Allori  (1535—1607),  both  but  in- 
different artists  compared  with  their  great  predecessors. 

Notwithstanding  the  myriads  of  vapid  church  pictures 
that  continued  to  be  manufactured  to  supply  the  exigencies 
of  the  rapidly  increasing  altars  and  image-worship  in  Italy, 
an  increase  provoked  by  opposition  to  the  idolatry-hating 
and  image-destroying  tendencies  of  the  Lutheran  Reforma- 
tion, but  which  had  no  real  foundation  in  piety,  the  domi- 
nant feeling-  in  art  was  anti-religious.  The  best  talent  went 
to  pagan  or  profane  subjects.  “ Do  not  paint  me  any  saints 
or  such  like  things,  but  something  pleasing  and  agreeable,” 
wrote  Frederic  of  Este  to  Sebastiano  del  Piombo.  The 
ascendancy  of  the  religious  sentiment  in  painting,  based 
upon  the  dogmas  and  traditions  of  the  Church,  was  at  an 
end.  Even  Correggio,  as  early  as  1526— 30,  in  which 
years  he  painted  his  celebrated  frescoes  of  the  “ Assump- 
tion of  the  Virgin,”  in  the  Duomo  of  Parma,  was  so  over- 
borne by  the  growing  fashion  of  his  epoch,  which,  indeed, 


GIOVANNI  DI  S.  GIOVANNI. 


471 


his  genius  greatly  encouraged,  that  he  sacrificed  the  legiti- 
mate sentiment  of  his  composition  to  violent  foreshortening 
and  exaggerated  action,  provoking  from  his  clerical  critics 
the  satirical  comparison  of  a “ hash  of  frogs’  legs.”  Both 
his  desire  and  the  sympathies  of  his  audience  were  widely 
apart  from  the  old  devout  feeling  that  inspired  art.  He 
painted  in  the  parlor  of  the  convent  of  St.  Paolo,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  gay  abbess  and  her  light  nuns,  a series 
of  mythological  subjects  representing  the  Graces,  Bacchus 
nursed  by  Leucothea,  Lucina,  Satyrs,  Fates,  stories  from 
the  myths  of  Diana,  Juno,  Minerva,  Endymion,  Adonis, 
and  other  pagan  fancies,  so  sensuously  beautiful  as  to  put 
to  flight  every  ascetic  idea,  and  in  stricter  times  to  subject 
them  to  a decorous  veil  of  whitewash,  and  the  ladies  to  the 
unwelcome  discipline  of  the  Church,  and  a more  rigorous 
obedience  to  their  vows.  In  fact,  scandal  was  not  confined 
to  the  walls  of  sacred  edifices  in  these  loose  times,  hut 
was  deeply  ingrained  in  the  characters  of  their  inmates. 
One  of  the  most  conspicuous  exhibitions  of  utter  disregard 
of  sacred  proprieties  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  refectory  of 
the  Badia  at  Fiesole,  in  a fresco  of  Giovanni  di  S.  Gio- 
vanni, a century  later  than  the  preceding  example,  but 
whether  done  from  sheer  levity  or  utter  incapacity  to  other- 
wise treat  a religious  theme,  one  now  is  at  a loss  to  decide. 
The  subject  is  “Christ  fed  by  Angels.”  The  Saviour  is  a 
jovial  young  man,  seated  in  the  open  air  at  a cafe  table 
with  its  usual  garnish,  partaking  with  much  relish  of  deli- 
cate viands,  game,  fruit,  and  wine,  surrounded  by  attendant 
angels  of  all  sizes,  vulgar,  mischievous,  and  tipsy-looking. 
Some  are  flying  through  the  air  laden  with  dishes  after  the 
most  approved  gargon  style ; one  little  fellow  is  bitterly 
crying  over  a broken  plate  of  ortolans  that  he  has  let  fall  ; 
a companion  is  slyly  pointing  to  Jesus  with  a mischievous 


4 72 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  CARRACCI. 


chuckle,  comforting  him  with  the  assurance  of  a sound 
thrashing ; three  others  are  scrambling  for  a dish  of  cher- 
ries ; and  on  the  right,  sneaking  off*  through  the  under- 
brush, dressed  as  a monk,  but  with  his  usual  appendages 
distinctly  visible,  is  the  devil,  who,  having  approached  on 
mischief  intent,  has  just  been  detected  by  a group  of  cou- 
rageous angelic  urchins,  who  furiously  pelt  him  with  stones. 
The  coloring  is  warm,  and  the  design  free  and  vigorous. 

Nunziata,  a scholar  of  Ridolfo  Ghirlandajo,  affords  an- 
other memorable  instance  of  the  growing  levity  of  the  times 
in  what  related  to  religious  art.  A citizen  ordered  of  him 
a Virgin  that  should  be  painted  in  a chaste  manner  in 
accordance  with  her  character.  He  gave  him  a Madonna 
with  a beard.  For  another,  who  wished  a Crucifix  for  his 
summer-house,  he  painted  a Christ  on  the  cross  without 
other  drapery  than  a pair  of  stockings. 

Leaving  these  examples  of  vitiated  taste,  the  intellectual 
Carracci  and  their  academic  followers  demand  a passing 
notice.  There  is  much  in  the  eclectic  school  of  Bologna 
which  claims  respect  and  admiration,  though  the  principle 
at  its  root,  that  of  learned  selection  and  combination  from  all 
other  schools,  to  the  intent  to  cull  out  their  good  and  recast 
it  according  to  prescribed  aesthetic  rules,  was  one  to  which 
true  genius  could  never  have  given  its  assent.  A great 
master  creates  his  art  out  of  his  own  imagination,  going 
to  nature  only  for  auxiliary  truths,  as  did  Leonardo  and 
Michel  Angelo.  Or,  if  he  make  use  of  the  progress  of 
another  to  help  on  his  own,  he  borrows  an  idea  only,  and 
recasts  it,  like  Raphael,  in  the  mould  of  his  own  mind, 
giving  to  it  an  entirely  new  soul. 

This,  however,  was  not  the  meaning  of  the  eclecticism 
of  the  later  Bolognese  painters.  Their  system  was  an  im- 
practicable one  of  seeking  to  unite,  according  to  theoretical 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  CARRACCI. 


473 


rules,  into  a new  and  perfect  whole,  the  varied  excellences 
they  coveted  in  those  great  masters  who  were  their  models 
in  painting.  From  one  they  proposed  to  borrow  symmetry 
and  the  rules  of  composition ; from  another,  invention  ; a 
third  would  teach  them  “ management  of  shade;”  a fourth, 
“ dignified  color  ; ” some,  natural  truth ; others,  strength 
of  design;  Correggio,  “sovereign  purity”  of  style;  Par- 
migianino, a “ little  grace ; ” and  thus,  after  a receipt,  as 
it  were,  which  gives  one  more  the  idea  of  cookery  than  of 
painting,  they  were  to  form  a new  and  more  perfect  aes- 
thetic ideal  than  the  world  had  yet  seen.  An  error  so  fatal 
to  artistic  originality  and  unity  needed  but  the  attempt  to 
be  put  into  practice  to  receive  from  itself  its  own  death- 
stroke.  Widely  differing  qualities  could  no  more  unite  into 
one  homogeneous  whole  than  clay  and  iron.  The  very  at- 
tempt implied  the  destruction  of  that  individuality  in  art 
which  is  its  vital  force.  Accordingly,  this  shallow,  incon- 
gruous theory  of  imitation  did  not  long  predominate  with 
the  clever  artists  with  whom  it  originated.  They  copied 
largely  and  studied  intently  for  a while  the  merits  of  their 
predecessors,  but  they  also  made  nature  the  basis  of  their 
teaching.  Theirs  was  a purely  intellectual  system,  calcu- 
lated to  develop  talent,  to  teach  the  theory  and  practice  of 
art  according  to  established  rules,  and  to  define  and  extend 
taste ; in  fact,  to  oppose  orderly  method  and  scientific,  regu- 
lar progress,  to  the  lawless  habits  and  crude  inventions  of 
those  painters,  then  numerous  and  influential,  who  followed 
no  other  guides  than  their  erratic  wills  and  a superficial 
glance  at  nature,  and  were  more  ambitious  to  astonish  or 
dazzle  than  to  win  truth  or  create  beauty. 

As  a check  to  artists  of  this  stamp  and  a counter-current 
to  their  barbarisms,  the  eclectics  did  good  service  to  art. 
And  as  there  were  among  them  really  great  artists,  despite 


THE  ECLECTICS. 


474 

the  hindrances  of  an  erroneous  and  cumbersome  system, 
they  have  left  behind  them  works  which  bear  the  impress 
not  only  of  conscientious  study,  but  of  elevated  thought 
and  fertile  invention.  Their  aim  was  much  above  the 
common,  and  their  scope  universal.  Christianity,  pagan- 
ism, history,  the  landscape,  the  passions  and  sentiments, 
furnished  them  with  exhaustless  topics,  which,  sustained  by 
a highly  cultivated  fancy  or  imagination,  they  treated  upon 
a dignified  level  of  taste,  and  with  a serious  view  of  the 
aesthetic  claims  of  art.  A subject  given, — by  their  rules 
and  knowledge,  a clever  picture  and  sometimes  a great 
one  was  the  result.  There  was  not  with  them,  as  with 
the  earlier  masters,  a powerful  inward  force  of  individual 
character  impelling  them  in  a certain  direction  and  pro- 
ducing marked  contrasts  with  all  other  art.  Their  in- 
dividuality was  rather  that  of  personal  taste  in  the  choice 
and  manner  of  treatment  than  of  a highly  individual 
genius  making  for  itself  a new  and  deep  channel  in  its 
onward  course.  Consequently,  their  art  has  a decided  im- 
pression of  school , and  among  their  best  men,  as  among 
their  more  ordinary,  there  is  a certain  uniformity  of  clever- 
ness and  common  stamp  of  method.  We  find  masterly 
drawing,  accurate  modelling,  copious  and  pleasing  inven- 
tion, harmonious  coloring,  inclined,  however,  to  weak  or 
cold  tints,  and  too  often  a sort  of  ostentation  of  manual 
dexterities  or  the  externals  of  art.  That  which  is  most 
lacking  is  the  soul-power  which  genius  alone  can  supply, 
and  without  which  all  art  is  emotionless. 

Of  the  brothers  Carracci,  Annibale  (1555-1619)  was 
the  most  distinguished,  though  all  were  clever  and  popular. 
Guercino  (1590— 1666),  Guido  (1575— 1642),  Albani 
(1578- 1660),  Sassoferato  (1605-1685),  and  Domeni- 
chino  (1581— 1641),  are  familiar  to  every  lover  of  paint- 


DOMENICHINO. 


475 


ings,  being  those  masters  most  generally  to  be  seen  in 
galleries,  and  hitherto  the  most  frequently  copied  for  the 
popular  taste.  In  relative  position  in  art  they  are  now 
taking  the  place  in  the  scale  of  criticism  which  they  un- 
doubtedly would  have  adjudicated  to  themselves ; an  hon- 
orable one,  but  still  inferior  to  those  that  they  looked  up  to 
for  instruction.  Domenichino,  without  being  inspired  by 
the  highest  motives  of  art,  still  has  very  great  merit.  He 
manifests  a free  conception  of  character,  a lively  and  fertile 
fancy,  well-adjusted  accessories,  broad,  masterly  treatment 
of  drapery,  much  spirit,  excellent  taste,  and  pleasing  move- 
ment. He  is  warmer  in  color  and  more  natural  than 
Guido,  whose  types  are  abstract  and  ideal ; coldly  classical, 
without  force  or  passion  and  equally  vapid  in  tint,  but  with 
attractive  movement,  and  much  beauty  of  form  and  grace 
of  composition. 

Our  intention,  at  present,  is  simply  to  allude  to  the  ar- 
tists of  this  school,  and  that  only  as  marking  an  epoch 
beyond  which  in  Italy  painting  manifested  a rapid  and 
continuous  decline,  affecting  the  standard  of  taste  elsewhere 
to  a lamentable  degree,  so  that  not  only  noble  effort  and 
noble  work  alike  disappeared,  but  the  faculty  of  discerning 
the  true  and  beautiful  departed  also.  A few  examples  of 
this  degeneracy  are  worth  noting. 

In  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  Charles  de 
Brosses,  a highly  cultivated  Frenchman  of  rank,  travelling 
in  Italy,  thus  speaks  of  the  frescoes  of  the  Campo  Santo 
at  Pisa.  “ Les  murs  sont  tons  peints  d fresque  de  la  main 
de  Giotto , d'  Orgagna,  de  Benetto,  etc.,  d'unemaniere  fort 
bizarre,  fort  ridicule,  parfaitement  mechante,  et  tres  curi- 
euse This  curt  criticism  affords  an  adequate  idea  of  the 

* Lettres  Historiques  et  Critiques  sur  L’ltalie.  Paris,  an.  7.  In  1581,  Mon- 
taigne, then  on  his  travels  in  Italy,  thus  with  indifference  alludes  to  them  : 
“ Les  uiurs  sont  couverts  d ’anciennes  peintures,  parmi  lesquelles  il  y en  a d ’un 


476 


DOMENICHINO. 


opinions  entertained  by  intellectual  men  of  the  early  mas- 
ters up  to  the  revival  of  the  more  correct  taste  and  juster 
discrimination  of  motives  of  this  century.  Diderot,  how- 
ever, in  writing  of  Boucher,  points  out  the  true  cause  of 
the  decline  of  art  and  taste  which  obtained  in  France  in  the 
last  century.  He  says,  44  This  debasement  of  taste,  color, 
composition,  character,  expression,  and  drawing  has  fol- 
lowed step  by  step  on  that  of  morals.”  In  England,  at  the 
same  period,  there  was  less  immorality,  but  greater  igno- 
rance. Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  sneered  at  the  Umbrian 
school,  particularly  the  early  manner  of  Raphael,  as  44  dry 
and  insipid.”  With  equally  undiscriminating  criticism,  he 
calls  the  earlier  painting  of  Italy  barbarous,  averring  that 
before  Masaccio  44  every  figure  appeared  to  stand  upon  its 
toes  ;”  a statement  untrue  in  itself,  and  showing  that  he 
carelessly  adopted  the  phraseology  of  his  times  without  that 
examination  into  its  soundness  which  historical  candor  de- 
mands. But  Hogarth,  who  was  still  less  eclectic  in  knowl- 
edge and  more  thoroughly  English  in  his  feeling,  even  more 
emphatically  represents  the  tone  of  his  country  in  his  day. 
He  saw  in  the  mystic  symbol  of  cherubim  and  seraphim, 
so  grandly  and  beautifully  rendered  and  with  such  holy 
meaning  by  the  great  masters,  only  44  an  infant’s  head  with 
a pair  of  duck’s  wings  under  its  chin,  supposed  to  he  always 
flying  about  and  singing  psalms,”  and  in  one  of  his  plates, 
44  Enthusiasms  Delineated,”  he  actually  added  duck’s  legs 
to  a cherub. * These  are  significant  facts  of  the  interpre- 
tation put  upon  sacred  art  by  the  cultivated  classes  of  Eng- 
land a century  since,  paralleled  to  a lamentable  extent  by 
the  indifference  or  ridicule  of  intelligent  people  in  Amer- 
ica in  our  day.  But  the  great  change  already  brought 

Gondi  de  Florence,  tige  de  la  maison  de  ce  nom GEuvres  de  Montaigne,  p.  736. 
Paris,  1850. 

* DuJces  of  Urbino,  vol.  ii.  p.  162. 


REVIEW  OF  PAST  ART. 


*77 


about  in  the  mother  country  by  a sounder  criticism  and 
greater  sympathy  with  the  past,  is  but  anticipatory  of  what 
must  also  occur  in  our  own,  as  the  knowledge  of  art  is 
diffused  and  its  works  become  accessible.  We  shall  also 
find  beauty  in  the  myths  of  Christian  art  equally  with  those 
of  pagan  origin.  Just  as  far  as  the  truth  of  Christianity 
is  in  advance  of  the  truth  of  paganism,  so  should  its  art 
rise  superior  to  that  of  paganism.  There  is  a science  of 
aesthetics  in  spirituality  as  well  as  in  materiality ; a science 
which  Savonarola  recognized  and  to  which  Fra  Angelico 
gave  pictorial  utterance.  So,  also,  a superiority  of  feeling 
obtains  in  Christian  art  because  of  the  absolute  holiness  of 
its  motives.  But  religious  artists,  as  yet,  so  far  from  ex- 
hausting their  fountain  of  inspiration,  have  only  hinted  to 
us,  as  it  were,  its  marvellous  depth  and  flow.  The  men 
we  have  named,  with  all  their  spirituality,  are  but  infants  in 
that  suggestiveness  of  progress  opened  to  the  soul  through 
Revelation.  Hence,  the  spread  of  science  is  but  the  pre- 
paratory step  — divine  insight  being  bestowed  upon  genius, 
chosen  of  Heaven  for  its  work  — towards  new  flights  of 
artistic  invention,  shaping  ideas  into  forms  which  shall 
move  our  souls  with  as  earnest  and  intelligible  feeling  as 
did  the  olden  art — childish  or  obsolete  though  it  now  seems 
to  the  multitude  — those  to  whom  it  appealed.  Blake,  the 
mad  painter,  but  mad  only  as  Paul  was  before  Festus,  has 
given  modernism  new  incarnations  of  divine  things,  unin- 
telligible to  material  eyes,  but  filled  with  deep  significance 
to  those  whose  horizon  is  not  bounded  by  dogma  or  matter. 
So,  too,  Ary  Scheffer  faintly  suggests  the  infinity  of  the 
soul’s  range  and  power  of  etherealizing  substance  to  its 
own  idea  of  spiritual  action.  But  before  inquiring  into 
the  future  of  Christian  painting,  it  will  be  useful  to  briefly 
review  the  ground  we  have  gone  over. 


478 


REVIEW  OF  PAST  ART. 


Our  aim  has  been  to  present  its  three  distinct  aspects  in 
their  chronological  sequence,  to  trace  their  relations  to  civ- 
ilization, and  to  discover  what  each  has  accomplished. 

First  came  the  Theological,  or  that  which  was  born  of 
the  primitive  art  of  the  Catacombs ; a creation  wholly  of 
the  Church ; a slave  to  its  dogmas,  without  any  true,  inher- 
ent, artistic  vitality ; a simple  incarnation  of  faith,  doctrines, 
and  traditions ; not  to  be  criticised  as  art  proper,  but  as  an 
incarnation  of  the  current  theology ; zeal  without  knowl- 
edge ; devotion  without  liberty ; symbolical  in  intent,  but 
idolatrous  in  practice.  Its  roots  being  deeply  fixed  in 
ignorance  and  superstition,  it  still  remains  in  vogue  wher- 
ever, as  in  the  Orient,  Russia,  and  Greece,  the  popular  mind 
is  spellbound  by  infallible  authority,  and  is  under  the  same 
technical  conditions  which  have  been  its  inheritance  for  fif- 
teen centuries,  varied  only  at  rare  intervals  by  gleams  of 
individual  genius  or  the  force  of  classical  traditions,  which 
have  had,  however,  no  permanent  influence  upon  it  as  a 
whole.  No  matter  how  lamentable  the  quality  of  its  art, 
the  aesthetic  faculties  are  irresponsible  for  its  features,  be- 
cause, as  we  have  learned,  theological  dictation  permitted 
to  it  neither  choice  nor  progress.  To  the  enlightened 
mind  the  value  of  this  art  is  merely  historical,  as  illustrative 
of  a peculiar  mystic  development  of  the  religious  sentiment, 
tending  to  idolatrous  externals,  ascetic  habits,  and  station- 
ary thought.  It  is  adverse  to  inquiry,  intolerant  of  change, 
idolizing  blind  faith  and  unquestioning  obedience.  Now 
we  gaze  curiously  upon  it,  as  a spectral  image  of  the  Past. 
Its  purpose  being  fulfilled  and  its  energy  extinct,  it  quietly 
recedes  everywhere  as  it  comes  in  contact  with  a loftier 
standard  of  reason  and  liberty. 

Secondly,  contemporaneous  with  the  mental  activity  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  was  the  Religious  aspect  of  its  art, 


REVIEW  OF  PAST  ART. 


479 


with  a progressive  tendency  in  the  highest  motives  for  up- 
wards of  three  hundred  years,  because,  although  the  off- 
spring of  faith  and  doctrine,  it  asserted  to  itself  aesthetic 
freedom  of  choice  and  execution.  Perfection  was  its  aim, 
guided  by  truth  with  the  noble  purpose  of  teaching  and 
bearing  witness  to  the  most  important  interests  of  the  pres- 
ent and  future  life.  Still  its  freedom  was  limited.  Apart 
from  the  rightful  province  of  art  itself,  as  the  recording 
spirit  of  all  truth  and  beauty  with  entire  liberty  of  action, 
it  was  shackled  to  a special  mission  by  a dominant  creed, 
which,  although  it  afforded  it  the  loftiest  and  most  spiritual 
motives  painting  had  as  yet  received,  yet  denied  to  it  breadth 
of  purpose  and  full  latitude  of  action.  Dividing  itself  into 
two  branches,  the  one  became  mystic  and  spiritual  in  an 
exalted  degree,  burning  and  luminous  with  the  interior  sense 
of  things,  aspiring  through  ecstatic  feeling  to  the  unseen, 
severe,  pure,  graceful,  and  serene  — and  suggestive  too  of 
holiness  — beyond  all  art  before  or  since.  The  other,  bas- 
ing itself  upon  the  facts  and  forms  of  nature  as  its  mode  of 
expression,  with  a bias  as  decided  for  the  tangible  and  seen 
as  was  its  counter-current  of  that  inspiration  which  comes 
of  faith,  expanded  into  a wider  and,  to  the  world  at  large, 
a more  sympathetic  and  intelligible  stream ; the  two  giving 
origin  to  schools  of  painting  whose  nobility  of  thought,  dig- 
nity, and  beauty  of  execution,  as  seen  in  their  greatest  mas- 
ters, have  never  been  surpassed.  But  the  art  that  was 
directly  born  of  mediaeval  religious  feeling  is  now  extinct. 
Its  vitality  withered  before  the  reaction  produced  by  its  own 
one-sided  indulgence.  Beautiful  it  was  and  ever  will  be  in 
its  remains,  as  the  poetical  and  angelic  side  of  the  Catholic 
creed;  instructive  too,  as  an  example  to  what  extent  art 
can  be  purified  and  ennobled  by  heaven-descended  inspira- 
tion ; edifying  also,  as  a warning  that  it  parts  not  with  the 


480  “let  the  dead  bury  their  dead.” 

slightest  fraction  of  its  aesthetic  independence,  whether  ex- 
clusively to  religion  or  sense,  without  final  detriment  to  that 
true,  tender,  and  beautiful  service  which  art,  when  rightly 
apprehended,  performs  for  man.  However  much  we  may 
venerate  the  Past,  either  under  Grecian  or  Gothic  forms, 
we  must  remember  that  both  are  irrevocably  gone.  Each 
issued  from  certain  mental  conditions  that  can  never  be  re- 
peated by  history. 

In  art,  more  than  in  other  things,  there  is  danger  of 
overmuch  reverence  for  what  lies  behind  us.  Respect  and 
veneration  are  to  be  enjoined  for  intellectual  uses.  Even 
though  we  may  not  fully  comprehend  the  civilization  of  a 
past  epoch,  it  is  no  less  incumbent  upon  us  to  preserve  its 
souvenirs  for  the  benefit  of  those  by  whom  they  may  event- 
ually come  to  he  more  fully  appreciated.  It  is  indeed  a 
duty  to  treasure  up  the  knowledge  of  our  predecessors, 
though  to  worship  dead  men’s  bones  is  the  worst  of  follies. 
He  who  saw  deepest  into  Humanity  said  “ Let  the  dead 
bury  their  dead.”  This  has  a wide  application  to  all  human 
action,  and  is  especially  pertinent  to  art.  Too  many  artists 
do  nought  else  but  look  back.  Forward,  they  have  the 
vision  of  moles.  But  their  eyes  peer  earnestly  into  the 
retreating  ages,  to  catch  the  waifs  of  antiquity  and  to  seize 
upon  the  creations  of  olden  men,  tormenting  their  spirits  if 
so  be  they  haunt  their  former  labors,  and  disappointing  us 
by  the  stale  reproduction  of  ideas  and  forms  from  which 
faith  and  feeling  having  forever  fled,  we  can  have  no  real 
sympathy  for  them.  Hence  it  is  that  our  modern  studios 
abound  with  the  beings  of  classical  mythology,  pagan  tra- 
dition, or  Jewish  story.  Hence  also  is  it  that,  with  a 
periodical  surfeit  of  such  repetitions,  no  hearty  response 
comes  from  the  public  to  sustain  art.  Judiths,  Hebes,  and 
Cleopatras  had  a personal  meaning  in  their  own  ages. 


THE  PROMISE  OF  THE  FUTURE. 


481 


These,  and  other  often-imitated  forms,  were  then  incarna- 
tions of  living-  facts  and  emotions.  Their  presence  warmed 
the  blood  and  inspired  the  intellect.  Now  they  excite  but 
aesthetic  interest  or  historical  inquiry.  Their  special  mis- 
sion seems  to  be  to  betray  the  poverty  of  invention  and  the 
inability  of  the  modern  artist  to  read  the  handwriting  of 
Nature  on  the  walls  of  the  Present,  which,  if  he  would  but 
learn  to  interpret  it,  would  furnish  him  with  an  inexhausti- 
ble fountain  of  motives  akin  to  its  own  hopes  and  aspirations. 

In  reviewing  the  third  aspect  of  painting,  which  we  have 
termed  the  Naturalistic,  and  tracing  its  career  as  the  parent 
of  our  art,  we  shall  briefly  inquire  into  its  promise  for  the 
future.  Its  general  characteristics  were  recorded  in  Chap- 
ter V.  Originating  with  the  school  of  Masaccio,  inspired 
by  religion,  nurtured  by  science,  broad  and  lofty  in  its 
choice  of  themes,  firmly  planting  itself  upon  the  domain  of 
Fact,  withal  nobly  ideal,  yet  it  overlooked  as  a whole  the 
widest  field  of  art.  While  seeking  to  infuse  the  Truth  of 
nature  into  its  inherited  religious  themes,  and  coquetting 
with  landscape  or  disinterring  the  spirit  and  forms  of  pagan 
art,  it  overlooked  that  province  of  choice  which  not  only 
offers  the  amplest  scope  to  painting,  but  which  in  natural 
artistic  sequence,  the  aesthetic  will  being  free,  would  seem 
to  be  the  first  to  invite  attention,  as  being  the  broadest  foun- 
dation of  progress.  But  with  all  the  infused  vigor  and 
latitude  of  naturalism,  Italian  painting  did  not  realize  com- 
plete aesthetic  independence  ; for,  on  the  one  hand,  religion 
devoted  its  genius  to  Worship,  while,  on  the  other,  such 
scepticism  or  reaction  as  was  generated  out  of  its  one-sided- 
ness  looked  back  for  inspiration  and  relaxation  to  the  sen- 
suous or  sensual  imagery  of  classical  art,  once  itself  the 
expression  of  worship,  but  now,  its  faith  defunct  and  sym- 
bolism forgotten,  revived  only  as  an  intellectual  amusement, 

31 


48# 


LET  THE  DEAD  BURY  THEIR  DEAD. 


or  a novel  stimulant  to  the  senses.  Hence  it  was  that, 
while  the  principles  of  naturalism  became  the  guide  to 
aesthetic  progress,  they  were  not  sufficiently  independent  of 
religion  or  fashion  to  perceive  the  full  extent  and  value  of 
what  Nature  in  her  universal  aspect  opened  up  to  them. 
This  was  reserved  for  the  new  development  of  human  lib- 
erty ushered  into  being  by  Protestantism.  Under  the 
Catholic  system  of  a dominant  faith  and  ritual  admitting 
neither  inquiry  nor  change,  the  mind  either  revolves  within 
a prescribed  circle  of  ideas,  which  are  authoritatively  ad- 
ministered to  it  as  infallible,  or  it  rebels  at  such  irrational 
procedure,  and  escapes  from  bigotry  into  inward  unbelief 
and  outward  conformity.  Its  art,  therefore,  is  constant- 
ly tending  to  the  extremes  of  spirituality  and  sensuality; 
the  loftiest  suggestiveness  and  the  lowest  sensations  ; hut  in- 
variably making  Man,  and  his  destinies  future  and  present, 
its  theme.  Thus  the  individualism  of  the  artist,  although 
it  had  ample  scope  in  execution,  was  prescribed  in  motive, 
his  province  being  to  teach  what  he  was  bound  to  receive 
upon  ecclesiastical  dictum,  under  peril,  if  he  demurred,  to 
soul  and  body.  Dissent  consequently  became  rebellion. 
Compromise. had  no  other  outlets  than  absolute  infidelity  or 
Protestantism  ; the  former  tolerated  while  dumb,  the  latter 
persecuted  as  a mortal  enemy. 

The  instincts  of  absolutism  are  as  wonderfully  keen  as 
its  weapons  are  pliable  and  deadly.  It  felt  at  the  first 
shock  of  the  exercise  of  reason  in  the  individual,  directed 
to  matters  of  faith  and  authority,  that  its  days  were  num- 
bered, unless  the  new-fledged  liberty  was  strangled  in  its 
cradle.  Hence  its  hatred  and  horror  at  that  principle  of 
civilization  which  permits  the  individual  to  elect  his  God 
and  government.  Protestantism  was  to  the  man  what 
the  idea  of  “ divine  right”  was  to  pope  and  king;  the 


THE  PROTESTANTISM  OF  TO-DaY. 


483 


charter  of  his  power.  It  included  the  true  germ  of 
progress,  inasmuch  as  it  recognized  the  full  dignity  and 
responsibility  of  the  human  soul.  Basing  its  strength 
upon  the  inherent  virtues  of  humanity,  it  now  seeks  through 
reason  to  reconcile  man  with  his  Maker ; to  elevate  his 
character  by  the  exercise  of  his  faculties  in  all  those  inter- 
ests which  concern  him  in  life  or  death.  Simply  put,  it 
transfers  the  responsibility  of  being  and  doing  from  the 
church  or  state  to  the  individual.  All  Protestantism  that 
departs  from  this  fundamental  principle  ignores  its  own 
life-sap.  Much  that  exists  is  indeed  bastard,  because  it 
apes  Papal  power  without  any  sustaining  idea.  At  the 
best,  Protestantism  thus  far  has  led  but  a checkered  and 
inconsistent  career.  It  has  itself  been  grossly  intolerant. 
Though  born  of  reason,  it  often  stands  aghast  at  reason. 
Its  individualism  is  leavened  both  with  absolutism  and 
with  anarchism.  It  is  impatient  of  inquiry  and  timid  at 
scepticism.  It  is  fragmentary,  incredulous,  and  credulous, 
disposed  to  extremes.  Springing  from  individual  reason 
and  liberty,  it  has  partaken  of  the  Protean  passions  and 
speculations  of  its  multitudinous  parentage.  Thus  far  its 
condition  is  that  of  transition.  Its  ultimate  issues  have 
not  been  reached.  But  while  its  rival  looks  backward  for 
support,  Protestantism  consistently  fixes  its  gaze  ahead. 
Hence  it  is  synonymous  with  progress.  And  thus  it  has 
happened  that,  by  the  resistance  of  individual  reason  and 
personal  rights  to  absolute  rule  and  “ divine  right,”  hu- 
manity for  several  centuries  has  been  making  hopeful 
advances.  Protestantism  is  itself  assuming  a more  har- 
monious form  as  its  true  meaning  develops.  And  out  of 
its  infinite  variety  of  thought  and  experiment  there  slowly 
appears  a unity  of  purpose,  an  intellectual  fraternity,  and 
a sodality  of  material  welfare  that  augur  cheeringly  for  our 
ripening  civilization. 


484 


TRUE  PROTESTANTISM. 


Rightly  comprehended,  Protestantism,  or  rather  the  re- 
ligious principle  born  of  it,  teaches  the  Nobility  of  this  Life, 
in  distinction  from  the  ascetic  doctrine  of  its  ignobleness. 
Not  as  with  the  Greek  idea,  simply  for  enjoyment,  with  a 
heroic  or  stoic  unconcern  of  the  Future,  but  in  perfect 
Repose  as  regards  the  solution  of  the  great  problem  of 
Death,  the  while  exercising  with  healthful  activity  and  un- 
selfish desire  all  the  faculties  with  which  God  has  endowed 
humanity.  In  no  way  may  it  better  show  its  faith  than  by 
trusting  the  Instincts  He  has  created ; avoiding  alike  the 
base  Fear  of  asceticism,  whether  nurtured  in  Catholic  or 
Protestant  brains,  with  its  mean  longing  for  death  as  a 
means  of  escape  from  the  discipline  of  life,  and  the  narrow 
joy  of  the  classical  mind  in  its  sensuous  pleasures.  The 
modern  idea  of  Life  is  Work;  “to  replenish  the  earth 
and  to  subdue  it  ” ultimately  to  the  power  of  holiness  and 
condition  of  uses,  as  man  was  bidden  to  do  by  its  Maker. 
But  to  do  this  well  we  must  cast  out  every  devil  of  Fear, 
whether  it  he  of  Him  or  of  Ourselves,  His  Image ; 
taking  to  our  hearts  instead  the  angels  of  Obedience,  Love, 
Freedom,  and  Trust.  It  is  all  vanity  and  vexation  to  be 
forever  contemplating  an  escape  into  some  far-off*  condition 
of  eternal  being,  as  a panacea  for  the  evils  of  this  life. 
Far  better  is  it  to  realize  the  heaven  that  is  here  waiting 
for  every  one  who  opens  his  heart  and  mind  to  its  gifts, 
free,  upon  the  sole  condition  of  knocking  and  asking ; 
which  means,  using  our  present  as  if  it  was  to  be  our  eter- 
nal home  ; and  not  indulging  in  that  fatal  delusion  that, 
by  dodging  the  labor  and  duties  given  to  be  done  noiv , we 
may  sneak  or  whine  our  way  into  a heaven  at  last. 

Thus  much  it  is  necessary  to  define  our  idea  of  Protes- 
tantism before  proceeding  to  connect  the  present  and  future 
of  painting  with  it.  In  this  analysis  it  must  be  kept 


ARE  WE  AT  THE  LIMITS  OF  ART  I 


485 


steadily  in  view  that  art,  whether  of  faith,  feeling’,  or  fact, 
is  but  one  form  of  the  poetry  of  civilization;  as  it  is  based 
upon  its  standard  of  spirit  and  aspiration,  it  cannot  rise 
above  the  level  of  its  fountain-head ; its  quality  depends 
upon  the  imagination  ; its  execution  upon  knowledge ; and 
thus,  Protestantism  possessing  unrestricted  liberty  of  choice, 
the  responsibility  of  progress  rests  no  longer  upon  the 
government  but  the  individual.  When  the  religious  and 
theological  pressure  was  removed  from  art,  its  direction 
naturally  turned  to  the  homely  and  common.  Domestic 
life,  the  popular  aspects  of  the  external  world,  the  passions 
and  affections,  interests  and  tastes,  habits  and  associations 
of  the  people,  became  its  favorite  themes.  It  forsook  the 
church  for  the  household.  Its  governing  religious  princi- 
ple was  the  opposite  of  the  Catholic  idea.  Anti-worship  ; 
thou  shalt  not  make  to  thyself  images  to  fall  down  before 
them  ; these  were  the  watchwords  of  the  new  art  which 
came  in  with  the  reformation  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
Hence  the  holy  horror  of  our  fathers  to  sculpture  and 
painting  that  savored  of  the  creed  they  had  repudiated. 
Hence  their  tendency  to  the  other  extreme,  whose  frigid 
decorum  and  barrenness  of  life’s  beauty  fittingly  repre- 
sented what  was  nearest  their  hearts.  But  must  we  stop 
on  the  threshold  of  art^  Are  imitations  of  classicalism 
and  the  commonplaces  of  naturalism  to  be  our  final  lim- 
its ! 

No. 

Why  not  I 

To  answer  this,  let  us  first  examine  the  present  condi- 
tion of  art  in  relation  to  its  loftiest  source  of  inspiration, 
Religion.  We  repeat  that  neither  under  the  Catholic  nor 
Protestant  idea  does  there  now  exist  any  living  religious 
art.  Hints,  yes,  of  hopeful  things  in  the  latter.  The 


486 


EVILS  OF  ABSOLUTISM. 


vital  spiritual  element  of  the  former  has  long  been  extin- 
guished. Its  sensual  successes  and  hybrid  classicalism,  were 
but  a fashion  and  soon  spent  themselves.  Retrogression  and 
exaltation,  each  springing  from  limited  sources,  having  run 
out,  Catholic  painting  at  present  exhibits  utter  decay.  It 
exists  only  in  soulless  imitations,  impoverished  by  the  qual- 
ity of  that  patronage  to  which  in  its  degradation  it  sold 
itself.  Catholic  countries  proper,  Italy  and  Spain  for 
instance,  in  which  art  once  was  so  accomplished,  are  now 
bereft  of  lofty  genius.  But  painting  with  them  only  par- 
takes of  that  universal  inanition  which  overtook  all  those 
nations  that  stifled  Individualism  in  Theocratic  Absolutism. 
The  “divine  right”  of  tyranny  not  merely  blighted  hu- 
manity in  its  fairest  sites  and  barred  its  progress,  but  made 
it  a mean  and  pitiful  thing,  so  far  as  it  could  dominate  the 
soul  and  pervert  it  to  cruel  and  selfish  ends.  Philip  II. 
of  Spain  and  Louis  XIV.  of  France  are  notable  examples 
of  what  moral,  intellectual,  and  industrial  ruin  mongrel 
priest  and  kingcraft,  sustained  by  a popular  faith  in  an 
infallibility  true  only  of  God  himself,  may  bring  upon 
gallant  nations.*  And  we  are  now  witnesses  that  the  only 
real  life  among  Catholic  peoples  is  in  the  degree  of  their 
vigorous  and  continuous  protest  against  those  pernicious 
assumptions  of  divine  authority  upon  which  their  rulers, 
disregarding  alike  reason,  and  the  rights  and  interests  of 
the  ruled,  base  their  claims  to  absolute  power.  Painting  in 
France,  albeit  Catholic  in  ritual,  is  now  taking  the  lead  in 
general  progress,  precisely  because  an  aesthetic  race  has 
won  to  itself,  in  science,  art,  and  religion,  scope  of  individual 
thought  and  action,  and  its  government,  however  absolute, 


* See  that  instructive  and  remarkable  chapter  on  the  “Protective  Spirit 
under  Louis  XIV.”  in  Buckle’s  History  of  Civilization,  p.  621.  London,  1858 
Second  Edition. 


THE  TRUE  PRINCIPLE  OF  HIGH  ART. 


487 


reposes  itself  upon  popular  rights  and  well-being.  Trace 
we  painting  elsewhere  in  Catholic  countries  like  Belgium, 
and  the  same  result  is  seen  arising  out  of  similar  causes ; 
while  in  Austria,  where  the  opposite  principles  prevail,  art 
and  science  are  alike  dumb.  In  view,  therefore,  of  the 
present  condition  of  painting  in  those  countries  which  rec- 
ognize or  deny  the  doctrine  of  the  freedom  and  conse- 
quent responsibility  of  the  individual,  we  must  admit  that 
such  vitality  as  it  exhibits  is  mainly  due  to  the  liberty  and 
enterprise  of  Protestantism.  Hence  it  is  that,  having 
nothing  further  to  hope  for  from  effete  Catholicism,  the 
future  of  art  depends  upon  the  expansion  of  knowledge, 
and  the  quality  of  the  aspirations  of  its  youthful  rival  in 
the  government  of  the  world. 

The  principle  of  high  art  as  being  intimately  interwoven 
with  religion,  so  fully  recognized  by  Catholic  artists,  is  the 
true  one.  It  erred  in  the  excess  and  exaggeration  of  its 
application.  Worship  overmuch  tending  to  the  ascetic  or 
sensual,  excessive  faith,  and  quenching  of  reason ; such 
were  the  mistakes  of  Catholic  art.  Its  prevailing  tendency 
has  been  to  Worship  without  religion  ; the  substitution  of 
the  formula  for  the  spirit. 

Whenever,  on  the  contrary,  Protestantism  has  gotten  the 
ascendancy,  Anti-worship  has  been  its  prevailing  feature  in 
art.  Its  gods  are  either  refined  to  abstractions,  or  exist 
only  as  mental  imagery.  While  its  religious  feeling  is  as 
deep  and  active  as  its  opponent’s,  in  none  of  its  localities 
has  it  an  organized  worship  ; a ritual  of  Praise  and  Sacri- 
fice, independent  of  mere  teaching.*  In  this  attempt  to 
keep  alive  Religion  without  Worship,  Protestantism  com- 


* Some  may  except  the  Service  of  the  Church  of  England  from  this  allega- 
tion. But  this  is  a compromise  only  with  Catholicism,  as  formal  and  uninviting 
to  Protestants  generally  as  to  the  Catholics  themselves. 


488 


WORSHIP  AND  ANTI-WORSHIP. 


mits  its  great  error.  Humanity  has  imperative  instincts. 
Of  these  none  is  loftier  and  purer  than  that  which  leads  to 
communion  with  its  Author.  Not  alone  that  speculative, 
theological  communion  which  hinges  upon  the  divine  invi- 
tation, “ Come  let  us  reason  together,”  but  that  which  is 
born  more  directly  of  the  spirit,  and  in  adoration  goes  well- 
ing up  amid  the  richest  offerings  of  the  heart  and  intellect, 
alike  in  petitions  and  hosannas,  direct  to  God  himself, 
from  assembled  multitudes  in  harmonious  accord,  with  no 
earth-stained  authority  or  falsified  tradition  between  them 
and  Him. 

The  rebound  of  Protestantism  from  religious  art  has 
been  in  proportion  to  its  horror  of  idolatry  and  its  exaltation 
of  reason  above  feeling.  But  this  extreme  being  wellnigh 
spent,  the  times  call  again  for  a religious  art,  as  an  auxil- 
iary to  a new  and  more  spiritual  Worship,  whose  advent 
seems  at  hand.  Protestantism  has  long  enough  been  with- 
out a vivifying  faith.  Its  primary  mission  to  break  the 
bonds  which  coerced  mind  and  hindered  progress,  to  lib- 
eralize governments  and  fraternize  peoples,  destroying  su- 
perstition and  invigorating  by  divine  influx  human  liberty 
and  happiness,  is  well  understood  and  accepted.  But  its 
greater  end  of  reconciling  man  with  his  Maker  by  a faith 
justified  by  knowledge  and  incarnated  into  spiritual  ele- 
ments of  worship,  made  beautiful  and  instructive  through 
their  associations  with  virtue  and  piety  here  and  felicity 
hereafter,  uniting  mankind  into  a brotherhood  of  holy  uses 
and  desires,  replenishing  earth  with  the  atmosphere  of  par- 
adise so  far  as  the  possibilities  of  matter  and  mind  admit 
on  our  present  level  of  being,  — this  greater  mission  yet 
remains  to  be  demonstrated  to  us. 

Whoever  candidly  examines  the  two  great  religious 
phases  into  which  Christianity  is  divided  must  acknowl- 


THE  BROAD  CHURCH. 


489 


edge  that  each  is  the  extreme  opposite  of  the  other,  both  in 
its  fundamental  elements  and  final  issues : faith  and 
obedience  being  the  aims  of  Catholicism,  reason  and  liberty 
those  of  Protestantism;  their  mutual  antagonism  exaggerat- 
ing the  inherent  vices  of  either  system,  so  that  the  former 
gravitates  constantly  towards  superstition  and  stagnation, 
and  the  latter  incurs  the  risk  of  the  extinction  of  worship 
and  faith  altogether.  Self-sufficiency  and  self  abasement 
are  their  antipodal  characteristics.  The  Church,  meaning 
thereby  infallible  Authority,  is  the  shibboleth  of  the  one 
party ; the  Bible,  implying  what  fallible  reason  may  in- 
terpret of  it,  that  of  the  other.  Thus  while  the  need  of  the 
former  is  an  admixture  of  the  elements  of  earthly  prosper- 
ity, the  want  of  the  latter  is  more  humility  and  obedience, 
and  a diviner  recognition  of  those  immortal  instincts  that 
make  all  men,  alike,  children  of  a heavenly  Father.  He 
who  accepts  Christianity  in  this  broad  sense,  appreciating 
with  impartial  view  the  defects  or  virtues  of  its  element- 
ary distinctions,  while  admitting  the  necessity  of  sectarian- 
ism in  passing  conditions  of  humanity,  must  also  perceive 
that  its  growing  tendency  is  towards  not  mere  toleration 
but  fraternity.  Much  demolition  and  clearing  away  of  ac- 
cumulated error  and  selfish  interests  remain  to  be  done 
before  the  full  reconstruction  of  a religious  edifice  based 
upon  the  solid  foundations  of  the  common  truths  and  loftiest 
aspirations  of  Protestantism  and  Catholicism  can  be  ef- 
fected. Such  a Church  would  be  an  eternal  protest  against 
all  error,  and  a catholic  habitation  of  all  truth  ; a living 
Temple  of  Worship;  human  variety  in  spiritual  unity;  the 
medium  of  love  and  good-will  from  on  High  to  all  man- 
kind ; a universal  Church  which  shall  fill  earth  with  its 
great  white  light.  But  the  signs  of  Promise  are  now  vis- 
ible in  the  heavens.  It  is  not  for  us  here  to  speculate  as 


490 


THE  FUTURE  OF  ART. 


to  how  the  New  Church  will  root  itself  in  humanity,  nor 
to  discern  its  shape  and  season.  One,  however,  will  arise, 
for  the  universal  heart  and  intellect  alike  yearn  for  it. 
And  it  will  be  of  a form  and  spirit  that  will  fill  those  who 
“ hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness  ” with  the  peace 
and  joy  of  believing. 

We  are  now  in  the  transition  period,  when  ideas  are  being 
sifted,  and  isolated  truths  fly  wildly  about,  flashing  uncer- 
tain light  in  the  vast  obscurity,  now  appearing,  then  disap- 
pearing for  a while,  but  ever  in  search  of  the  great  central 
truth  to  which  they  are  finally  to  be  joined  in  orderly  unity. 
Art  participates  in  the  universal  excitement.  It  may  not 
precede  the  great  religious  movement,  but  it  will  reflect  it 
and  inspired  by  it  regain  its  classical  and  mediaeval  in- 
fluences as  a civilizing  element,  partaking  of  their  aesthetic 
and  devout  spirit  and  exalted  to  more  persuasive  signifi- 
cance. We  judge  of  its  Promise  by  its  present  conditions: 
not  the  superficial  imitation  of  past  art,  nor  that  trickery 
of  nature  which  is  its  vulgar  aspect ; but  that  sympathy 
with  and  deep  insight  into  nature  and  humanity,  recogniz- 
ing the  likeness  of  God  in  his  creation,  which  characterizes 
the  strong  artists  of  our  days.  They  hearken  to  the  deep, 
inner  voice  of  Nature.  With  them  the  truth  of  externals  is 
the  language  of  internals  ; form  and  color  corresponding  to 
qualities  which  lie  at  the  heart  of  things ; and  to  them  there 
is  nothing  unclean  that  God  has  made.  Every  created 
object  and  instinct  to  special  use  and  position  and  all  to 
the  great  Whole  made  necessary  by  divine  Love  and  Wis- 
dom, is  a truth  slow  of  recognition  by  man  at  large.  In- 
dividualism tends  to  Universalism.  It  ignores  nothing. 
Heart  and  Mind,  free  to  act,  cooperate  in  progress.  Mod- 
ern feeling  for  art  as  yet  finds  its  chiefest  gratification  in 
landscape  and  domestic  life.  Mythology  has  subsided  into 


THE  FUTURE  OF  ART, 


491 


a love  of  the  natural  world.  This  is  as  it  should  be,  laying 
for  art  a broad  and  deep  foundation  in  the  primary  instincts 
of  the  heart,  on  which  it  will  ultimately  rise  to  the  superior 
aspirations  of  the  soul.* 

* Among  the  signs  of  the  times  denoting  in  America  the  absence  of  the 
worship-principle  of  religion  and  the  comparative  decline  of  the  old  system  of 
“ meeting-houses/’  look  at  the  relative  size  and  cost  of  our  dwellings,  hotels, 
and  stores  in  contrast  with  the  petty,  unmeaning  edifices  dedicated  to  God  or 
presumed  to  be.  In  this  relation  we  refer  of  course  only  to  those  structures 
which  make  pretensions  to  architecture  of  some  kind  or  degree,  apart  from 
mere  building,  whether  they  he  the  ambitious  carpentry  of  country  mechanics 
or  the  more  solid  work  of  city  designers.  Wigwam  and  fig-leaf  are  sufficient 
protection  to  man  from  weather.  But  as  soon  as  his  means  exceed  his  animal 
necessities,  his  inventive  faculties  find  action  in  responding  to  his  desires  for 
ornament  and  beauty.  Hence  fine  clothes,  habitations,  and  whatever  gratifies 
that  lust  of  the  eye  which  is  animated  by  the  desire  of  the  heart.  Architec- 
ture becomes  the  universal  material  incarnation  of  his  most  active  loves.  Be 
it  understood  that  we  use  this  term  not  as  building  but  rather  in  the  sense  of 
ornamentation ; that  which  adorns ; carving,  sculpture,  and  painting,  composed 
with  reference  to  variety  in  unity,  harmony,  symmetry,  and  proportion,  the 
aim  of  the  whole  being  Beauty,  and  the  spirit  which  inspires  it  that  which  is 
for  the  time  closest  to  the  human  heart,  whether  of  pride,  vanity,  luxury,  ambi- 
tion, emulation,  piety,  or  that  insatiable  human  craving  after  excellence  which 
animates  every  right-minded  man.  Now,  applying  this  test  to  our  present 
styles  of  architecture,  it  is  plain  that  the  God  of  the  Puritans  is  no  longer  our 
God.  In  their  day  and  after  their  manner  they  recognized  a Jehovah,  honor- 
ing Him  to  the  full  extent  of  their  means  and  knowledge,  and  fearing  Him 
with  their  entire  hearts.  The  “temple-clad  hills”  were  eloquently  significant 
of  their  belief  in  a personal  deity ; just  as  their  preaching  was  of  their  belief  in 
a personal  devil.  Their  best  was  consecrated  to  religion ; government  was  second- 
ary to  theology ; and  stringent,  ascetic  laws  kept  their  Deity  in  awful  remem- 
brance. All  this  is  now  reversed.  The  desires  and  faith  of  the  people  are  in 
luxurious  habitations,  with  cunningly  contrived  appliances  of  ease,  — modern 
improvements  so  called,  — gaud  and  upholstery  triumphant,  and  in  “palatial” 
stores.  Mark  that  word,  for  it  signifies  much.  Each  new  store  grander  than  its 
neighbor  is  rejoiced  over  in  the  public  prints  as  a palace.  The  people,  too,  be- 
lieve it,  and  the  builders  mean  it.  Right  it  is,  too  ; but  only  as  the  seed  of  better 
things,  as  we  shall  see.  But  for  the  present,  while  houses  and  stores  are  rising 
in  costliness,  luxury,  and  stateliness,  each  seeking  to  outdo  its  neighbor,  exalting 
its  horn  to  the  very  skies,  meeting-houses  — why  call  a building  a Church  or 
Temple  that  is  not  dedicated  to  Worship  as  well  as  to  Preaching  or  Lecturing, 
excellent  and  useful  as  they  are  in  their  proper  place  and  due  degree,  and 
which  often  shares  its  uses  with  our  patron  saint,  Gain  — meeting-houses,  we 
say,  are  so  snubbed  and  overtopped  by  their  worldly  rivals  that  they  seem  in 
our  streets  like  mere  impertinences;  victims  gasping  for  vital  air.  And 
their  architecture  corresponds  in  general  to  their  humiliation.  If,  indeed,  an 


SCIENCE  AIDS  ART. 


492 

Science  now  assists  as  it  has  never  before  done.  Ex- 
ecution, genius  given,  is  approaching  the  certainty  of 
mathematical  law.  It  needs  but  systematized  cooperation 

attempt  to  have  something  fine  in  the  ecclesiastical  fine  is  tried,  the  result  in 
most  cases  is  the  parodying  of  the  Past,  or  the  putting  together  of  incongru- 
ous bits  of  its  Church  architecture  into  a mannered,  lifeless  whole,  which  be- 
comes the  fashionable  toy  of  a congregation  until  some  fresher  and  more 
egregious  plagiarism  or  folly  casts  out  its  stale  devils  to  seek  new  and  equally 
profitless  shapes  elsewhere. 

Where  the  treasure  is  there  will  be  the  heart  also.  Our  treasure  is  not  yet 
in  our  religious  edifices;  nor  can  it  be  until  we  are  inspired  to  Worship.  In 
the  mean  time  we  do  love  luxury  and  commerce.  Look  at  our  streets.  Stores 
first  in  estimation,  houses  next,  meeting-houses  last.  Such  art  as  we  possess,  — 
at  present  an  instinctive  craving  for  beauty,  and  a free-will,  chaotic  sort  of  use 
of  color,  form,  and  symmetry ; a desire  for  carving,  and  a lavish,  individual 
display  of  unripened  tastes,  with  here  and  there  a happy  feeling  out  the  way 
towards  something  ne  w,  good,  and  fitted  to  its  purpose,  — such  art  as  this  is 
poured,  freely  as  air,  upon  those  objects  dearest  to  the  public  mind.  Hence 
we  see  in  the  stores  primarily,  and  secondarily  in  houses,  an  embryo  taste  and 
feeling  for  art  and  its  adaptation  to  the  required  uses,  crude  though  they  often 
are,  yet  pregnant  with  rich  promise  for  the  future.  The  growth  of  America 
is  so  rapid  that  while  we  pause  to  look  at  one  phase  of  things  it  has  swept  by 
and  is  far  behind  us.  We  are  racing  onwards  to  some  great  and  as  yet  un- 
shaped good,  which  looms  up  in  the  active  imaginations  of  our  people  like  a 
new  Canaan  of  Promise.  And  we  shall  reach  it  in  art  as  well  as  other  things. 
The  growth  of  taste  in  our  public  grounds,  the  increasing  refinement  and  de- 
light of  our  populace  in  everything  beautiful  and  artistic,  our  rural  cemeteries, 
the  Central  Park,  with  its  embryo  progeny  of  Botanical  and  Zoological  Gar- 
dens, Art  Museums,  and  adornment  with  that  which  makes  a “joy  forever;” 
a perpetual  example  to  our  myriad  of  growing  cities ; all  this  convinces  us  that 
before  this  century  shall  have  expired  America  will  have  wrought  out  for  her- 
self a new  and  hopeful  School  of  Art,  suited  to  her  civilization,  founded  upon 
those  great  ideas  which  agitate  her  present  existence.  A School  of  Art  which 
shall  recognize  all  humanity ; religion,  instruction,  decoration,  refinement ; old 
shapes  made  new ; a vital  institution  that  shall  honor  us  as  Italy  is  honored, 
and  as  Greece  was,  by  their  glorious  art.  We  are  emphatically  a new  people; 
unfashioned ; the  elements  of  old  races  and  ideas  fusing  into  an  original  and 
more  complete  national  whole  than  the  world  has  yet  seen.  And  we  have  a 
great  advantage  over  our  maternal  land  in  the  infusion  of  the  warmer  blood 
of  southern  races  into  our  solid  stock,  which  quickens  our  imaginations  and 
develops  greater  impressibility  and  susceptibility  to  artistic  influences,  with 
more  vivid  and  fresher  action  and  thought  than  is  common  to  the  old  world. 

Providence  is  doing  much  for  us.  Behold  the  pouring  into  the  crucibles  of 
those  mixtures  which  are  finally  to  produce  the  fine  gold  of  our  national  being, 
if  we  but  do  our  part.  This  is  our  transition  period;  the  incubation  of  ideas 
and  the  testing  of  them  by  rude  practice.  Be  patient.  With  all  our  apparent 


THEIR  NEEDED  CO-OPERATION, 


493 


between  science  and  art,  in  the  accumulation  and  diffusion 
of  their  respective  knowledges  for  the  material  advance  of 
art  to  be  parallel  with  that  of  science.  Individual  effort 
and  discovery  require  to  be  conserved  and  directed  to  the 

disrespect  for  religion,  none  go  about  more  busily  than  we,  inquiring  “ What 
shall  we  do  to  be  saved  ? ” Problems  that  have  sprung  up  amongst  us  must  be 
worked  out  to  their  ultimate  issues.  Commercial  gain  is  one.  But  Mammon 
will  not  always  be  the  directing  spirit.  Selfish  it  now  is,  because  it  looks  more 
to  the  appetite  of  the  individual  for  personal  accumulation  than  to  a desire  for 
the  public  welfare,  or  the  simple  laws  of  need  and  supply.  But  the  man  Jona- 
than gets  rich,  builds  expensively,  and  creates  a demand  for  Beauty,  based  upon 
that  pride  or  sensuous  enjoyment,  which  is  the  beginning  of  artistic  growth. 
Jonathan’s  children,  having  leisure,  money,  and  education  — such  of  them,  we 
mean,  as  are  not  mired  in  their  own  selfishness,  littleness,  or  worthlessness  — 
demand  something  nobler  and  more  refined  for  their  enjoyment.  Thus  by  de- 
grees, questioning,  doubting,  experimenting;  and  working,  slowly  throwing  off 
the  lees  of  the  Past,  we  are  ripening  to  a great  Future,  in  which  Religion,  made 
lovely  by  Art,  shall  take  her  rightful  place  in  our  hearts  as  well  as  minds,  and 
men  shall  again  find  more  pleasure  in  dedicating  buildings  to  the  service  of 
God  than  of  their  bodies  ; lavishing  upon  them,  and  upon  all  that  elevates  hu- 
manity, that  wealth,  taste,  and  knowledge  we  are  now  so  rapidly  acquiring. 
Mark  too,  there  will  be  no  stale  repetition  of  old  forms  in  our  coming  artistic 
life  ; but  it  will  burn  with  a fire  all  its  own  ; new,  true,  lovely,  and  great ; re- 
joicing the  beholder,  the  while  lifting  him  up  proudly  as  a citizen  of  this  new 
world,  and  filling  him  with  an  assured  Faith  in  his  future  life.  Until,  therefore, 
our  taste  and  religious  feeling  are  ripe  for  such  an  architectural  consummation, 
better  by  far  build  as  we  do  now,  crude  and  unformed  edifices  for  tempo- 
rary uses  of  religion,  about  which  no  aesthetic  feeling  can  gather,  nor  veneration 
cling ; for  they  have  neither  beauty,  comeliness,  nor  adaptation  to  the  great 
principles  of  Divine  Worship,  and  are  continually  torn  down,  moved  off,  or 
converted  into  other  uses,  as  the  ponderous  car  of  Mammon  crushes  down 
upon  them,  slaying  right  and  left.  The  sole  permanent  buildings  we  have  as  yet, 
after  their  kind  consistent  with  their  motives,  are  our  marts  of  business  and 
what  relates  to  material  necessities  and  intellectual  needs.  They  will  long  en- 
dure, the  representations  to  the  Future  of  the  feeling  and  delight  of  this  age.  In 
our  domestic  requirements  we  have  got  as  far  as  luxury.  Our  dwellings  are 
full  of  costly  contrivances  to  administer  to  our  comfort  and  of  quaint  variety 
and  wondrous  aesthetic  inconsistencies,  as  enjoyable  to  true  taste  as  the  night- 
mare to  the  epicure.  And  we  say  this  not  complainingly.  These  Things  are 
in  their  progress  towards  the  Eternal  Right.  Upon  the  broad  foundation  of  our 
accumulating  wealth  and  knowledge  we  shall  finally  ripen  into  an  aesthetic  and 
worshipping  race,  with  a spiritual  God,  the  Abolisher  alike  of  slavery  of  mind, 
sense,  or  body.  Till  then  though  we  may  possess  liberty  we  are  not  free.  Once 
truly  Free,  we  shall  recognize  Faith  as  the  horizon  of  Reason  ; clear  and  well- 
defined  according  to  our  mental  stand-point,  yet  projecting  before  us  on  every 
side  infinite  Enjoyment  and  Repose. 


4*94* 


THE  GREAT  MISTAKE. 


general  end.  This  done,  and  the  grammar  and  practice 
of  art,  its  theories  of  light,  color,  design,  and  material,  ac- 
quired, not  as  now  by  isolated  work,  hut  taught  as  a system 
of  perfected  science,  individual  genius  may  then  begin  a 
career  with  the  assurance  of  technical  success.  Imagina- 
tion will  be  less  fettered  to  manipulation,  because  knowl- 
edge and  discipline  direct  the  hand.  Inspired,  let  us  hope, 
by  visions  of  a new  heavens  and  earth,  whose  secrets  have 
been  disclosed  to  it  by  science  and  faith,  the  principles  of 
Protestantism  and  Catholicism  quickened  into  divine  frater- 
nity, to  what  heights  of  invention  may  not  it  soar  ? Pagan 
and  mediaeval  imagery  will  no  longer  satisfy  the  artist  or  his 
audience.  Neither  will  the  fallacy  that,  because  the  passions 
and  virtues  of  humanity  are  of  universal  and  eternal  interest, 
the  forms  into  which  antiquity  incarnated  their  actions  must 
enkindle  like  emotions  in  modern  hearts,  be  longer  received. 
Experience  ought  long  since  to  have  taught  artists  their 
mistake.  The  people  are  beginning  to  love  the  natural 
world,  and  to  read  its  lessons  in  all  their  infinite  variety. 
Hence  they  love  and  sustain  art  that  translates  to  their 
walls  its  scenes  and  joys.  They  hearken  gladly  to  the  lan- 
guage of  their  homes  ; their  deeds,  struggles,  and  victories 
in  the  great  problem  of  earnest,  actual  life.  Their  u Now  ’* 
charms  them.  Why,  therefore,  go  back  to  the  “ now  ” of 
past  races  % Let  their  art  speak  for  itself.  When  living, 
it  was  of  vital  interest  to  the  peoples  that  begat  and  upheld 
it.  But  mind  and  morality  both  advance.  Our  world  is 
not  their  world.  True,  patriotism  is  ever  honorable,  but 
the  standard  of  patriotism  is  measured  from  age  to  age  by 
the  quality  of  its  morality.  Christianity  now  condemns 
what  Christian  notions  once  approved.  “ My  country,  right 
or  wrong  ” has  come  to  be  an  ethical  crime.  Each  century 
elevates  the  moral  understanding  of  international  law  and 


BREAD,  NOT  STONES. 


495 


public  justice.  A “Judith”  may  fittingly  represent  the 
patriotism  of  a barbarous  race,  who  “ smile  by  the  deceit 
of  lips,”  and  who  play  the  harlot  in  order  to  enact  the  as- 
sassin, as  may  also  the  murderous  vows  of  Agamemnon 
and  Jephthah,  or  the  cruel  sacrifice  of  an  Abraham,  the 
piety  of  so-styled  heroic  ages.  But  now  if  the  Law  might 
not  prevent,  it  would  punish,  either  deed.  Cleopatras  still 
exist,  but  no  Cleopatra  could  now  reign.  What  we  de- 
mand of  the  artist  is,  that  when  he  undertakes  to  symbol- 
ize beauty,  virtue,  or  sense,  he  shall  invent  for  us  forms 
which  are  new  and  superior  to  the  old,  and  in  accordance 
with  our  more  enlightened  conceptions.  Failing  in  this, 
let  him  not  complain  that  the  public  have  no  instinctive 
feeling  for  art.  They  have.  But  when  they  ask  bread 
do  not  give  them  stones. 

If  this  be  true  of  earthly  motives,  how  much  more 
requisite  is  it  that  art,  when  it  again  aspires  to  religious 
teaching,  shall  open  up  to  us  an  imagery  and  symbolism 
as  exalted  as  the  incoming  Faith.  Not  that  it  is  to  repu- 
diate the  bright  beings  of  the  past,  nor  to  forget  the  ideas 
which  gave  them  immortality,  but  it  is  to  purge  them  of 
their  dross ; to  extract  the  sting  from  death  and  the  victory 
from  the  sepulchre.  Then,  Christ  will  have  indeed  risen 
for  us.  Asceticism,  the  bigotry,  persecutions,  and  expiations 
of  an  effete  theology  ; its  threats,  intolerance,  and  fanati- 
cisms ; its  fire-lit  hells  and  psalm-toned  heavens ; its  fulness 
of  material  significance,  obedience  born  of  fear;  faith,  of 
tradition  ; hope,  of  divine  caprice  ; despair,  of  cruel  law ; 
bribes,  prayer,  and  sacrifice  to  intermediate  agencies,  divine 
and  earthly,  to  unlock  the  gates  of  Paradise,  — all  these, 
with  their  attendant  dictation  and  superstition,  prolific 
mythology,  and  prostitution  to  ignoble  worldly  ends,  shall 
pass  away  as  completely  from  religious  creeds  as  have 
their  pagan  progenitors. 


496 


WHAT  ART  CAN  BE. 


What  will  art  become  \ 

Who,  indeed,  can  answer  this  question  ! And  yet  let  us 
look  steadily  at  the  heavens  and  see  if  there  be  no  sign 
given.  The  great  fundamental  fact  of  religion  is  the 
immortality  of  the  soul.  Next,  is  the  consciousness  that 
its  degree  of  happiness  or  misery  depends  upon  the  quality 
of  its  loves  and  deeds.  Heaven  and  hell  being  conditions 
rather  than  localities,  death  but  a birth  from  one  form  of 
being  into  another,  superior  or  inferior  according  to  the 
affinities  and  aspirations  of  the  soul,  it  follows  that  true  re- 
ligion, ignoring  alike  the  placid  rest  of  the  one,  so  dear  to 
the  imaginations  of  saints,  and  the  unutterable  agonies  of 
the  other,  so  haunting  to  shrinking  nerves,  must  teach  that 
hereafter,  like  the  present,  implies  a continuous  action  or 
progress  in  the  direction  of  the  loves  and  knowledge  culti- 
vated on  earth,  leading  the  soul,  as  it  elects,  nearer  to  or 
more  remote  from  that  Being  whose  Wisdom  is  directing 
all  creation  to  the  final  goal  of  his  Law.  While  mankind 
are  in  a state  of  rudimentary  knowledge,  fear,  with  its 
physical  imagery  of  torment,  is  the  most  stringent  argu- 
ment to  quicken  conscience  to  a sense  of  right-doing. 
Mediaeval  art  rested  its  faith  on  this  idea.  And  it  was  not 
wholly  wrong.  Evil  and  its  consequences,  if  they  do  not 
actually  assume  the  vile  and  terrific  shapes  it  pictured,  are 
none  the  less  fearful  realities  for  the  soul,  and  the  artist, 
in  representing  such,  has  only  the  choice  of  forms  and  re- 
sults that  shall  most  forcibly  impress  the  minds  of  his 
audience  with  a holy  horror  of  sin.  Hell  and  its  vile  crew 
are  substantial  truths  that  mortals  require  to  have  vividly 
presented  to  their  understandings,  that  they  may  appreciate 
the  infinite  cost  of  wickedness.  So,  too,  of  heaven.  Its 
supernal  shapes,  thrones,  dominions,  and  powers,  its  angels, 
archangels,  and  ministering  spirits  are  all  true.  There  is 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  MODERN  ART.  497 

no  uniform  level  of  suffering  or  happiness,  no  absolute 
equality  nor  stationary  condition  in  either  sphere ; but  each 
soul  cultivates  its  bliss  or  damnation  in  exact  and  unvary- 
ing correspondence  with  the  qualities  of  its  desires  or 
knowledge.  Individual  will  is  infinite  in  choice  and  ac- 
tion, but  divine  law  prescribes  definite  ends.  Glimpses  of 
futurity  in  all  times  have  been  vouchsafed  to  exceptional 
men,  whose  revelations,  perplexing  to  sense-incrusted  souls, 
are  pregnant  with  significant  truth  to  heaven-piercing  minds. 
The  problem  for  modern  art  to  solve  in  its  religious  aspect 
is  as  successful  an  incorporation  of  the  dawning  faith  and 
feeling  of  our  times  in  their  more  spiritual  conceptions  of 
the  joy  of  holiness  and  the  gravity  of  sin,  under  as  lofty 
impulses  of  faith  and  purity  of  zeal,  as  were  those  of  the 
mediae valists  for  their  times.  But  art  cannot  open  up  to 
itself  this  new  career  until  the  public  mind  is  prepared  to 
welcome  and  sustain  it.  Catholicism  is  now  dormant 
from  want  of  the  revivifying  agencies  of  liberty  and  rea- 
son. Worship  is  its  rule  ; teaching,  the  exception.  Prot- 
estantism is  loose-jointed  in  action  and  unsatisfactory  to 
the  religious  instincts,  because  it  beggars  worship,  repu- 
diates a central  authority,  over-stimulates  reason,  and  exalts 
the  preacher  more  than  the  Word.  Religion  will  not 
assume  its  proper  relation  to  humanity  until  from  out  of 
these  opposite  sectarian  tendencies  there  arises  a divine 
reconcilement  of  the  vital  truths  of  each,  fused  into  a unity 
in  harmony^  with  the  present  more  enlightened  platform  of 
liberty  and  belief.  How  much  more  of  antagonistic  strug- 
gle, doubtful  experiment,  license,  or  abasement,  humanity 
has  yet  to  undergo  in  its  preparation  for  a consummation 
so  devoutly  to  be  desired,  mortal  foresight  may  not  know. 
Yet  symptoms  of  this  increasing  reconciliation  of  the  peo- 
ples with  their  Maker  multiply  in  the  social  and  political 

32 


498 


THE  NEW  MISSION  OF  ART. 


firmaments.  Knowledge  is  fast  justifying  faith  to  law,  and 
deepening  the  consciousness  of  divinely  ordained  truth  and 
beauty  to  direct  and  gladden  the  heart.  Nations  as  well 
as  individuals  gravitate  even  by  force  of  material  interests 
more  and  more  towards  one  another.  The  human  Family 
is  dawning  upon  mankind  as  the  correlative  of  “ Our  Fa- 
ther” in  heaven.  And  as  our  eyes  are  opened,  we  shall 
perceive  that  the  family  is  not  solely  an  earthly  institution. 
Palpable  ties  connect  this  life  and  its  multiform  destinies 
with  other  lives.  The  future  is  tangibly  interwoven  with 
the  present  by  a subtle  web  of  cause  and  effect ; by  the 
interblending  of  affections  and  knowledge  and  an  infinite 
gradation  of  conditions  of  soul,  from  the  most  callous  or 
contrite  sinner  to  the  exceedingly  great  joy  of  the  “ Faith- 
ful and  True.”  Mediaeval  art  did  much  for  Christianity. 
But  of  its  successor  more  is  to  be  expected,  as  of  one  to 
whom  more  is  given.  We  can  faintly  conceive  of  this 
new  mission  of  art,  of  its  more  eloquent  and  exalted  incarna- 
tions and  broader  and  more  tender  understandings  of  heav- 
en’s persuasions  and  pleadings  to  the  sons  of  men  to  enter 
into  its  joys,  of  its  foreshadowing  of  the  conditions  and 
blessings  of  those  who  from  amongst  us  have  already  been 
welcomed  into  supernal  scenes,  whose  substance  is  spiritu- 
alized and  whose  being  glows  with  the  atmosphere  of  the 
new  Jerusalem,  whose  robes  are  holiness,  whose  voices,  har- 
mony, and  whose  “ peace  passeth  understanding.”  It  may 
not  aspire  to  incarnate  the  Inconceivable;  hut  it  surely  may 
shine  with  the  light  of  His  throne  and  of  those  that  walk 
therein.  Theirs  is  the  Triumph  — ours  the  Struggle  of 
Life.  Every  feature  of  the  omnipresent  strife  betwixt 
good  and  evil,  — the  agencies  that  stimulate  and  tempt;  the 
victories  and  defeats  of  the  “ still,  small  voice ;”  the  per- 
sonifications of  every  human  or  heavenly  influence  or  fac- 


THE  NEW  MISSION  OF  ART. 


499 


ulty ; the  Progress  of  Humanity  more  in  the  Love  than 
the  Fear  of  God ; its  conquests,  hopes,  and  aspirations ; 
Heaven  descending  upon  Earth  and  Earth  ascending  to 
Heaven ; every  cause  of  gain  or  loss  to  Mankind ; angel- 
winged courage  and  devil-instilled  doubt ; the  lessons  of 
that  religion  that  teaches  the  love  of  our  neighbor  as  of 
ourself, — in  short,  every  motive  that  exalts  the  heart  and 
improves  the  understanding,  opens  to  Art  limitless  inven- 
tion, into  which,  if  true  to  its  high  calling,  66  there  shall  in 
no  wise  enter  anything  that  defileth,  neither  worketh  abom- 
ination or  maketh  a lie.”  The  artist  who  arrives  at  this 
excellence  indeed  maketh  the  mind  rich.  If  we  are  bidden 
to  be  grateful  to  him  who  causes  two  blades  of  grass  to 
grow  where  but  one  grew  before,  how  much  more  to  the 
man  who  in  increasing  our  ideas  doubles  our  joys  ! To  the 
genuine  artist,  therefore,  the  public  owe  gratitude.  May 
these  words  strengthen  the  one  to  do  and  the  other  to 


receive. 


NAMES  OF  ARTISTS  MENTIONED  IN  “ART-STUDIES.5 


Albani,  Francesco 

Albertinelli,  Mariotto 

Allegri,  Antonio.  See  Cor- 
reggio. 

Allori,  Alessandro 

u Angelo.  (Bron- 
zino.)   

“ Cristofano 

Alunno,  Niccolo 

Angelico,  Fra 

Apollonius  

Aretino,  Spinello 

Avanzo,  Jacobo  d5 

Baldovinetti,  Alessio 

Baroccio,  Federigo 

Bartolo,  Domenico 

“ Taddeo  di 

Bartolomeo,  Fra 

Bazzi  (Razzi  or  Sodoma)  . 

Becafumi,  Domenico 

Bellini,  Gentile 

“ Giacomo 

“ Giovanni 

Benedetto 

Berlinghieri 

Berna 

Bicci,  di  Lorenzo  di  Bicci . . 
“ Lorenzo  di  ........ 

“ Neri  di 

Biliverti,  Antonio 


Page 

Bonfigli,  Benedetto 321 

Borgognone 310 

Botticelli,  Sandro  266 

Bronzino.  See  Allori,  An- 
gelo. 

Brunelleschi 100 

Bruno 167 


Buffalmacco,  Buonamico.  . . 152 
Buonarotti,  Michel  Angelo.  412 

Cagliari,  Paolo  (Veronese.)  240 


Capanna,  Puccio 164 

Caracciola  235 

Caravaggio,  Michel  Angelo  235 

Carracci,  Agostino 474 

“ Annibale 474 

u Ludovico 474 

Casentino,  Jacobo  di 195 

Castagno,  Andrea  del.  . . . , 218 

Cavallini,  Pietro 152 

Cennini,  Cennino 167 

Cigoli,  Ludovico  Cardi  da.  . 469 

Cimabue,  Giovanni 118 

Cione.  See  Orgagna. 

Corenzio 235 

Correggio,  Allegri  Antonio.  468 

Cosimo,  Piero  di 279 

Costa,  Lorenzo 310 

Cotignola,  Gio  Marchesi  da  468 

Credi,  Lorenzo  di 333 

Crivelli,  Carlo 310 


Page 

474 

342 

470 

470 

469 

321 

230 

116 

183 

174 

278 

470 

210 

205 

338 

356 

354 

301 

301 

468 

238 

111 

204 

170 

170 

171 

469 


502 


ARTISTS  MENTIONED  IN  “ ART-STUDIES, 


Dalmasio,  Lippo  cli 

Delli,  Dello 

Diamante,  Fra .... 

Diotisalvi 

Dolce,  Carlo 

Domenichino 

Donatello 

Duccio 

Empoli,  Jacobo  da 

Eraclius 

Ercole,  Grande 

Fabriano,  Gentile  da 

Francesca,  Piero  della  .... 
Francia,  Francesco,  (Raibo- 
lini) .... 

“ Giacomo  “ 

“ Giulio  “ 

Franciabigio,  Marc  Anto- 
nio   

Fuugai,  Bernardino  

Furini,  Francesco 

Gaddi,  Angelo  or  Agnolo . . 

“ Gaddo 

“ Giovanni  

“ Taddeo 

Garbo,  Raffaellino  del.  .... 
Garofolo,  Benvenuto  (Tisio) 

Ghiberti,  Lorenzo 

Ghirlandajo,  Benedetto  . . . 

“ Davide 

“ Domenico  . . . 

“ Ridolfo 

Giottino 

Giotto 

“ Francesco 

Giovanni 

“ da  Milano 


Page 

Giovanni  dal  Ponte 159 

“ di  Paoli 240 

“ di  S.  Giovanni  . . 469 

Giunta  da  Pisa 114 

Giusti,  Menabuoi 173 

Gozzoli,  Benozzo 302 

Granacci,  Francesco 348 

Guariento 173 

Guercino  474 

Guido  of  Siena 116 

Lapo,  Arnolfo  di 176 

Leonardo  da  Vinci 381 

Lippi,  Filippino 282 

“ Fra  Filippo 258 

Lorenzetto 199 

“ Ambrogio 199 

“ Pietro  Laurati.  . 216 

Lorenzo,  Don  (Monaco)  ...  204 
Lorraine,  Claude  469 

Machiavelli  239 

Mantegna,  Andrea 311 

Margaritone 115 

Martini,  Fra 199 

“ Francesco 239 

“ Simone  (Memmi.)  195 

Masaccio 253 

Masolino  da  Panicale 248 

Matteo  da  Siena 276 

Mazzolino,  Lodovico 310 

Melozzo  da  Forli 310 

Melzi,  Francesco 468 

Memmi,  Lippo 199 

Michel  Angelo.  See  Buo- 
narotti. 

Michele,  Ridolfo 352 

Michelino 239 

Minardi,  Bastiano 289 

Mino 191 


Page 

225 

248 

266 

116 

236 

475 

101 

116 

469 

111 

310 

298 

269 

321 

324 

324 

371 

277 

469 

164 

116 

164 

193 

348 

468 

29 

288 

288 

286 

353 

162 

122 

143 

111 

165 


ARTISTS  MENTIONED  IN  “ ART-STUDIES.”  508 


Page 

Nelli,  Plautilla 348 

Niccola  di  Pietro 167 

Nunziata 472 

Orgagna,  Andrea 175 

“ Bernardo 175 


Paolo,  Fra,  da  Pistoja  ....  348 
Pellegrino  da  Modena  ....  468 

Penni,  Gianfranco 468 

Perugino,  Pietro 324 

Peseliino 278 

Pesello 278 

Petrolino  Ill 

Pinturicchio 306 

Piorabo,  Fra  Sebastiano  del  437 

Pisanello  da  Verona 301 

Pisano,  Andrea 127 

“ Giovanni 127 

“ Niccola 127 

Pollajuolo,  Antonio 271 

“ Pietro 271 

Pontormo 372 

Poussin,  Gaspar 469 

“ Nicholas 469 

Puccio,  Pietro 204 

Puligo,  Domenico 372 

Raffaellino  del  Garbo 348 

Raffaello  (Raphael) 440 

Raibolini.  See  Francia. 

Razzi.  See  Bazzi. 

Reni,  Guido 474 

Ribera  (Spagnoletto) 235 

Ricciarelli,  Daniele 437 

Robbia,  Luca  della 247 

Robusti,  Jacobo  (Tintoretto)  469 

Romano,  Julio 468 

Rosa,  Salvator 469 

Rosselli,  Cosimo 278 


Page 

Rosso,  II 372 

Rustici,  Giovanni  Francesco  373 

Sano  di  Pietro 226 

Santi.  See  Raffaello. 

“ (Sanzio,)  Giovanni.  . 321 

Sarto,  Andrea  del 363 

Sassetta  239 

Sassoferato 474 

Sesto,  Cesare  da 468 

Signorelli,  Luca 272 

Simone  of  Naples 124 

Sogliani 348 

Spagna,  Lo 333 

Spinello,  Aretino  183 

“ Parri 185 

Squarcione 310 

Squazzella 370 

Stamina 167 

Stefano 159 

“ Tommaso  di 348 

Strozzi,  Zanobi 239 

Tafi 116 

Tintoretto.  See  Robusti. 

Tisio.  See  Garofolo. 

Tiziano,  Titian 313 

Torrigiano 412 

Ucello,  Paolo  250 

Udine,  Giovanni  da 468 

Ugolino 116 

Vaga,  Peri  no  del 468 

Vanni,  Andrea 204 

Vannucci  della  Pieve.  See 
Perugino. 

Vasari,  Giorgio 469 

Vecchietta,  Lorenzo  di  Pie- 
tro   210 


504<  ARTISTS  MENTIONED  IN  “ ART-STUDIES. 


>» 


Page 

Yeneziano,  Antonio 165 

“ Domenico 218 

Veronese,  Paolo.  See  Cagliari. 

Verrocchio  270 

Vinci.  See  Leonardo  da 
Vinci. 

Vitale 173 

Vite,  Timoteo  delle 468 


Page 

Vivarini,  Antonio 310 

“ Bartolomeo 310 

“ Luigi 310 


Volterra.  See  Ricci arelli. 

“ Francesco  da. . . . 166 

Zampieri.  See  Domenichi- 
no. 


THE  END. 


CAMBRIDGE:  PRINTED  BY  H.  O.  HOUGHTON. 


